


Say You Won't Let Go

by DreamofInception



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bell and Clarke Are Soulmates, F/M, New Year's Eve, They Don't Know It Yet, but they will
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-08
Updated: 2017-04-20
Packaged: 2018-09-30 19:11:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 23,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10169870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DreamofInception/pseuds/DreamofInception
Summary: "Yeah." She glances at her father, sleeping contently on the chair. New traditions. "Happy New Years, Bell.""Happy News Years, Clarke."They stay awake for another hour before Jake wakes up, and escorts Bellamy to his house with a new book. It's another one on Greek mythology, a classic, and every Sunday since that night Bellamy comes over to study the stars with her dad.Modern AU. Bellamy and Clarke are childhood friends.





	1. Part One

_i met you in the dark, you lit me up_

_i. new years eve 1995_

The Blakes move to Westwood on a Tuesday, their belongings packed in a minivan.

It's raining when they pull into the driveway, a dusky, trembling sky that announces their arrival. Clarke beams and kneels in front of her living room window. She's _excited_ ; has been excited to meet her new neighbours since Mrs. Wilson got transferred to a hospital in Seattle.

It's not that she didn't like Mrs. Wilson, or her two cats that always seemed to eat her mother's garden, but Clarke was the only kid on the street, and she was desperate for new friends.

"Daddy!" Clarke yells. She cuffs her hands against the glass. "Daddy, they're here! Come down!"

The van doors open, and two children rush out of the vehicle, shielding their hair from the rain.

Clarke smiles. _Kids_.

Jake walks into the living room. "Look at that, Stardust," he says, and he places his hands on her shoulders. They're shaking too much in excitement for him to hold. "You've got some new friends to play with."

The youngest one, who Clarke will learn is only five, walks tiredly towards her new home, dark bangs pasted to her forehead. She carries a cardboard box in one hand and a stuffed animal in the other, an older boy holding onto her as they walk up the porch steps.

Based on the dark complexion and darker hair, she thinks it's her brother. They look young, her age, and it's _perfect_.

Clarke looks at her father. "Should I go over and say hi?"

He chuckles. "Let them settle in, yeah?"

"Okay. How about after dinner?"

"Clarke."

"Tomorrow?"

"Yeah," he nods, "tomorrow."

She doesn't sleep that night. Her mind wraps in ideas on what to say and what games they should play. She decides on tag, since it's easy, and in the morning she grabs her whistle and a pen and walks over to the house next door.

The young boy answers. He has a valley of freckles that run along his cheeks. She wonders if he would let her draw them someday.

"Hi." Clarke reaches her hand forward. "I'm Clarke Rosalie Griffin, your next-door neighbour."

"Bellamy," he says. He doesn't shake her hand.

"That's a cool name."

"Thanks."

"Is it Greek?"

He shrugs. "I don't know."

"My mom tells me a lot of things come from Greek mythology, and so does my dad. He's a giant nerd." She bites on her bottom lip, looking at the empty house behind him. "You have a sister, right?"

Octavia Blake is smaller up close, her hair even darker in the shadows of their house. She stands awkwardly beside her brother after he calls her to the door, and she's just as quiet, just as shy.

Clarke smiles and asks them to play with her in her backyard. They tell her they have to finish unpacking.

"Maybe they're just scared," her mother tells her later. She places the dish towel beside the kitchen sink. "They came from across the state. It's a new city for them." Clarke sighs, and her mother tilts her chin. "Hey, give them time. They'll come around."

But they don't, and it isn't until the following month that Clarke realizes why.

Her mother usually works late on New Year's Eve, and so her and her father spend the remaining hours of the year watching the Dick Clark special with buttered popcorn and chocolate bars. It's a tradition with her father, since being a surgeon isn't exactly a 9-5 job, and Clarke is almost done her third bowl when she notices a glare from the window.

It's strong and bright, and she leans forward on the couch. The glare is coming from the Blake house across the street.

She narrows her eyes. "Daddy."

"What is it, Stardust?"

"The Blake house," she says. "The lights are still on."

"That's okay. Maybe they're spending New Year's Eve like us."

Clarke presses her lips together and looks back to the window. She doesn't see shadows, or the outline of a TV, or -

"There's no cars in the driveway."

Her father stares at her. "What?" he asks, and she points to the driveway. No cars. Not Mr. Blakes, or Mrs. Blakes. Her father curses - she never hears him swears but he does, and he gets up from the recliner and grabs her hand.

They walk to the house next door in their PJs. Octavia answers it after the third knock.

Jake smiles. "Hi. Octavia, is it?"

Octavia looks at Clarke. She nods. "Yeah."

"Nice to meet you, Octavia. My name is Jake, I'm Clarke's father." He looks inside the house, his expression strained. "Is your mother home at the moment, sweetie?"

Octavia shakes her head. "She's at work."

"And your dad?"

She shrugs. Jake swallows thickly.

"Okay." He sighs and kneels in front of her. "Why don't you get your brother - your brother is here, right?" Octavia nods at him. "Okay, good. Your mother just called me, and she wants you to get your brother and watch the ball drop at our place. That sound like fun?"

Octavia stares at him. She looks confused.

"We have the Dick Clark special," Clarke tells her. "And lots of soda."

Octavia presses on her bottom lip; looks up at them with those bright, brown eyes. "Do you have any food?"

Jake releases a breath. "Yeah," he tells her. " _Yeah_ , we have lots of food. Come on."

Octavia nods, and that's how it happens. The beginning of her story with the Blake siblings. It's not as easy convincing Bellamy to come to the house, but he's better after, though still quiet and shy.

He eats the pasta that her father makes and tells them things - that he's eight-years-old, into Greek mythology, and that his mother asked their dad to watch them for the night while he was at work.

But their dad left three hours ago to get snacks, and he hasn't been back since.

(Hours later, in the midst of chaos, he drunkenly stumbles back home. He doesn't even realize his children are gone).

Clarke is only seven, she doesn't know how to handle these things. But her father does, he's the _best_ at it really - because he doesn't say anything, doesn't pry or dig. He only asks Bellamy about his favourite Greek God, and for a brief moment, Bellamy smiles.

A few days later, Clarke invites them over again. This time, they say yes.

* * *

 

_you made me feel as though i was enough_

_ii. new years eve 1997_

Octavia Blake becomes her best friend in June of '96. An inseparable bond of fire and ice.

It's a simple story, the way it happens; not one that deserves a divine proclamation. Clarke was playing in the garden in her mother's backyard when Octavia asked if she could join. It's not that they didn't like each other before - the night she spent at Clarke's house made them friends, but Octavia was still shy around her. Still scared.

They played tag that day, and hopscotch, and then monopoly after she came inside for dinner. It was a fun day, and Octavia kept coming over as if it was a tradition or routine - and she hasn't stopped coming over since.

Clarke's never had a best friend before and was she glad she waited for Octavia to be her first. Which is why she invited Octavia to the movies for New Year's Eve with her parents, their third time spending the holiday together.

"I'm never going on a cruise in my entire life," Octavia proclaims after the movie. Jake and Abby brought them to see Titanic, and Octavia loved it, but now she's _terrified_. "Never, ever," she says, and looks at Clarke. "Don't ever let me go on one, promise?"

Clarke giggles. "It's just a movie, O."

"Liar. That really happened."

"Impossible."

Octavia turns away from her. "Mr. Griffin, who's right here?"

Jake hesitates, looking at his wife in the passenger seat. "Well," he draws out, and Abby laughs. "It happened, but that almost a hundred years ago. A cruise won't sink like that now."

Octavia shakes her head. "It doesn't matter. No cruises for me."

"What if Leonardo DiCaprio was on it?"

"Then he can drown by himself," she says, and Clarke gasps. Leonardo DiCaprio was the first man she ever loved. "He's done it once before."

Clarke argues with her, tells her she's wrong, but then Octavia makes some joke about the door Rose was on in the water and it makes Clarke laugh. That's their friendship - the fierceness and the silliness; arguing and laughing. Octavia challenges her, even when Clarke knows she's right; and it's _fun_.

Her father turns onto their street, lowering the volume on the radio. "Once we get inside, you girls get your PJs on and we'll get the popcorn popping, yeah?" He looks at them in the rearview mirror at them. "We've got good snacks this year, O. Ketchup chips, and almonds for the chocolate, and - "

"Is that Bellamy?"

Clarke looks at Octavia, who peers out the window to their house. She follows her gaze and notices Bellamy on her front porch. That's odd, she thinks; he was supposed to go to his friend's house tonight.

"Looks like it," Jake says. He sounds confused.

Abby looks at Octavia. "Was he supposed to be home?"

Octavia shakes her head. Abby looks at her husband.

"That's okay. He probably wants some snacks." Jake pulls into the driveway and plasters a smile. Bellamy doesn't even look up at them. "Maybe he was jealous about you getting to eat all the popcorn."

"He doesn't like popcorn," Octavia tells him as Jake helps her out of her car seat.

"That's crazy talk. Who doesn't like popcorn?'

He places her on the ground, holding her shoulder as they walk towards the porch. Clarke tries to peer out the window as her mother struggles with her belt, but she can't see, and she's getting worried.

"It's fine, sweetie. He probably just needs something."

Clarke opens her mouth, but her father speaks before she does.

"Abby," Jake calls. "Come here."

Abby pulls Clarke out of the car seat. It's dark outside, nearing the final hours of the year, and she walks beside her mother as they approach the porch. Her father is kneeling in front of Bellamy, cupping his face in one hand

He tilts his face upwards, and Clarke see's it; a long, purpling bruise under the surface of his eye.

" _Jesus_ ," Abby whispers.

"I told Octavia to go inside," he tells her, and she's never heard her father sound so furious. "Call Aurora."

Her mother nods, and she's quick when she acts, years of experience at the hospital setting into her adrenaline. Clarke wishes she was like her mom at this moment, but she's far from it; Clarke can't even move, can't even breathe. His face is swollen.

"What happened?"

"Clarke," her father whispers. "Go inside."

"Is he okay?"

" _Clarke_ \- "

His hand moves on Bellamy's face, and Bellamy gasps, body wincing as his thumb caresses the bruise.

Jake curses. "Hey, you're okay, buddy." Clarke watches as Bellamy swallows thickly. He looks like he's in pain, and it makes her head hurt. "You're okay. Let me go grab you some ice."

He removes his hand from his cheek, gently, and stands. Clarke watches as he walks towards the front door, and then she's suddenly alone with Bellamy. The two of them and the bruise that sizzles on his skin.

It's quiet for a while, but when he speaks again, it's so soft she barely even hears. Words low on his bloodied lips.

"It was my dad," he says, and she doesn't even know what that means.

"Your dad?" She shakes her head. "Why?"

"I don't know."

It's quiet again. He looks at her.

"How was the movie?"

She's confused by the sudden change of topic. "It was okay. Leonardo dies at the end."

"Yeah. He usually does."

Clarke nods. She doesn't know what to say. She looks at the house beside hers, the Blake house, the one with the quiet kids and the mean dad, and she realizes why she can't have sleepovers at their house, why he's always quiet and shy and -

She's never really talked to him in the few years she's known him. He was nice and played with her and O when her father couldn't, but he was one year older than her and didn't really talk to her in school.

Though he was still her friend. And she hates it when her friends are sad.

"You should probably get inside, Clarke. It's starting to get - "

She shakes her head, and leans forward to hug him, her small arms hanging loosely around his neck.

"You're my friend," she tells him, because she needs him to know. "Okay?"

For one terrifying moment, he's still against her, silent; but then he sighs on her shoulder and settles into the embrace, patting the small of her back.

"Okay."

Her father comes outside moments later, holding a bag of ice in one hand and a can of Pepsi in the other. He tells her to go inside again, and this time she listens, but only because he says that Octavia needs her.

She walks into the house to find Octavia crying on Abby's lap, and Clarke knows that she'll keep needing her for a little while longer. Maybe even forever.

"My dad never hits him that hard," she whimpers, and Clarke puts her hand on her shoulder. "He's never that bad. You have to believe me, he's not usually that bad. He just had a bad day."

Three days later, Aurora tells Mr. Blake to leave the house. He doesn't come back this time.

* * *

 

_then you smiled over your shoulder, for a minute i was stone-cold sober_

_iii. new year's eve 1998_

Octavia gets the flu two days before New Year's Eve.

And not any kind of flu - but the _stomach flu_. The one that makes you hot and cold all while throwing up any leftover food you've had in your stomach. It's gross and contagious, but Clarke tries her best to cure her anyway.

"O!" she hisses. She picks up the box of tissues that Octavia dropped on the ground and places it on her bedside table. "Come on, you're supposed to be trying to get better."

She groans into her pillow. "I can't."

"Yes, you can." She sits at the edge of her bed. She's been in Octavia's room a lot more since Mr. Blake left one year ago. "It's almost New Year's Eve. Who am I going to watch the ball drop with?"

"Your dad."

"Well, yeah. But I want you there, too."

"I'm sick."

"Bet you can get better in a day."

Octavia raises an eyebrow. "Bet you I can't." She coughs then, loud and gross, and Clarke inches away from her on the mattress. "What do you want from me? It's not my fault I'm dying."

"Sure it is. Remember last week when you played in the snow without a coat?"

"It wasn't _that_ cold."

Clarke narrows her eyes. "There was an extreme weather warning."

Octavia shrugs and cuddles into her pillow. "Tomato, tomata."

She doesn't get better that night, or the day after, and suddenly it's New Year's Eve and their tradition is broken. With her mother working nights, it's back to being her and Jake, and the popcorn and soda cans.

"Cheer up, Stardust. We can still have fun."

Clarke looks at her father. "You've fallen asleep at 9 p.m. every night this year."

"Give me some credit," he says. "I have one night of left 1998 to make it up to you."

She rolls her eyes and opens her mouth to respond, but the doorbell rings before she can speak.

Clarke jumps out of the recliner. "No way. Did you order pizza?" Her dad mumbles something to her under his breath, but she doesn't hear, rushing towards the front door and swinging it open.

To her surprise, there's no pizza. Just Bellamy. Wearing his glasses and holding a book.

Clarke stares at him. "Oh." She must look disappointed because he raises an eyebrow at her in curiosity. She shakes her head to rid her expression. "Sorry. Hey, Bell. What brings you all the way over here?"

He rubs his hand behind his neck. "Hey. Nothing special," he says and gives her the book he was holding. "Just thought your dad would like this back."

She looks at it. _Greek Mythology_. It's the book her father lent him a couple months after Mr. Blake left earlier this year. Those first weeks were difficult, especially on Bellamy. He lost the figure who was supposed to teach things about being a man.

Jake realized that and tried to help. But it's been hard - Bellamy's been distant.

"Oh. Yeah." She smiles at him. "That's - "

"Bellamy?"

Clarke turns to the sound of her father's voice as he walks towards the door, a smile wide and genuine on his face.

"Mr. Griffin," Bellamy greets. "I just . . . wanted to return the book you gave me. It was a good read."

He nods, placing his hands on his hips. "I thought you'd like it. What'd you think of the chapter on The Big Dipper?"

"It was good. Lots of information."

"Yeah. Sometimes it can get confusing, huh?" When Bellamy nods, Jake steps back into the house. "Tell you what - instead of reading about it, I'll show you what it looks like instead. It's easier to understand that way." He leans forward, winking at him. "And plus, it's pretty darn cool."

Bellamy looks at him. He seems hesitant, his lips pressing together into a firm line, but then he swallows thickly and takes those three deep breaths that Clarke's mother always tells her to make when she's nervous; the ones that make everything feel okay.

It seems like it works for him too, because he nods, stern, and steps over the threshold.

"Yeah," he says. "Okay."

Jake grins. He steps back and leads him into the house, the sound of Dick Clark's voice echoing the living room. Clarke glances at the countdown - two hours until midnight. She doesn't want to miss the ball drop.

Jake opens the kitchen door onto the back porch. Bellamy's expression marvels at the telescope.

"Woah," he whispers. He steps forward and runs his finger along the silver metal. "This thing is amazing. It must have cost you a fortune."

Jake shrugs. "We had to use some of the money we've been saving for Clarke's tuition, but she'll be fine."

Bellamy laughs. Clarke sticks out her tongue at them.

They spend the night like this, laughing, making jokes. It starts with finding the Big Dipper, but then her father makes a game out of it, leaning into the telescope and asking Bellamy to identify each star in the sky, to explain it's history and origins.

And Bellamy does - he wants to, his words vibrant as he discusses all of the archives that her father mentions.

It's fascinating, making Clarke feel warm and fuzzy. She loves spending time with her dad, but it makes her happy that Bellamy gets to spend time with him, too. He doesn't have one, and she's always been good at sharing.

An hour later, ten minutes before midnight, her father falls asleep on the chair. But this year she's not sad, because Bellamy is still awake beside her and it's time to start new traditions.

Clarke looks at him. She has an idea.

"We can share him, you know - if you want."

Bellamy glances at her. He's been leaning into the telescope even before her father fell asleep, and he looks disorientated, his eyes covered with red circles from the scope.

"What?"

"My dad," she says. "I said we can share him."

He narrows his eyes. She knows it's not something that you should say to someone without a dad, and if her mother were here she would tell her that she was being rude, but Clarke has always been one to speak her mind.

"You can't share dads."

"Yes, you can."

He shakes his head. "No, you can't. That's not how it works."

"Says who?"

Bellamy sighs. He looks tired, as if he's had this conversation before or at least wrestled with the thought in his head. She wonders if he'd feel better if she gave him some leftover Halloween candy in her closet.

He speaks after a moment, voice low.

"I don't know," he tells her, and she nudges her shoulder with his.

"Well, I do. Her name is Clarke Griffin, and she says that's how it works." He snorts, shaking his head, and she grins at his amusement. "Don't worry, I know how to make it even."

He glances at her. "Make it even?"

"Yeah. I've had him for ten years, so you can have him for the next ten."

"That could work."

She nods. "But you'll have to be careful around Thanksgiving. He's not that good of a cook, but he thinks he is, and it might be safer for everyone if you just order a pizza."

Bellamy chuckles. "Noted."

She smiles. She hopes she made him feel better. She's about to ask him if he wants some snacks when she hears the sound of fireworks from the living room, she proclamation of celebration and chanting in New York City.

Clarke blinks. "It's New Years," she says. She missed the ball drop. "I missed it."

He looks at her, a small grin spreading on his face.

"You didn't miss it. You just spend it out here instead."

She smiles. "Yeah." She glances at her father, sleeping contently on the chair. _New traditions._ "Happy New Years, Bell."

"Happy News Years, Clarke."

They stay awake for another hour before Jake wakes up, and escorts Bellamy to his house with a new book. It's another one on Greek mythology, a classic, and every Sunday since that night Bellamy comes over to study the stars with her dad.

It makes her happy, and it's easy, because like she's said - she's always been good at sharing.

* * *

 

_i pulled you closer to my chest_

_iv. new year's eve 1999_

Their mothers bring them to an ice rink in Boston three hours before entering 2000. Clarke's never been skating before, and she expects it to be fun, but then Octavia lets go of her waist in the middle of a turn and the world suddenly begins to spin around her.

She slams into the boards surrounding the ice rink, dizzy, her fingers gripping the edge.

"Octavia!" she hisses. Her toes are numb against the inside of her skates. They probe the fuzzy socks her mother got her for Christmas. "I told you not to let me go."

She skates towards her. "It looked like you were getting the hang of it."

"I wasn't."

"You sure?"

"I'm sure." She sighs. "I suck at this."

"You don't suck. You're just not that good."

Clarke huffs. If their mothers weren't looking at them from across the benches, she'd be tempted to give her the finger.

"Motivating speech, O. Now could you please remind me again why I'm friends with you."

Octavia rolls her eyes, and there's a sound of shredded ice as Bellamy approaches them from the other side of the rink. He's grown his hair out - she thinks as an attempt to look older - and the loose curls are haphazard underneath his Boston tuque.

He looks at Clarke, then Octavia, and she narrows her eyes as the smiles appear on their faces.

"Yeah, yeah, keep laughing," she says. Her knees begin to buckle tiredly against the boards. "You're just lucky we're not playing tennis."

He raises an eyebrow. "Tennis? I thought you sucked at tennis."

"No, I don't." She points to Octavia. " _She_ sucks at tennis."

"I don't suck at anything." Clarke opens her mouth to argue, and Octavia lifts her finger, holding it up between them. "Except math. That I do admit is challenging."

Clarke rolls her eyes. Bellamy laughs, moving to stand beside her.

"Don't listen to her. Of course you're going to suck if you're taking lessons from O." He takes her hands and peels them from the board, placing them on his shoulders. "Like most things, I'm good at this. So just follow my lead, okay?"

She nods. She remembers the stories of Bellamy playing ice hockey with his dad when he was younger, and she trusts him, letting him guide her as he skates away from the boards.

After half an hour, he seems confident enough in her to let her go. She immediately falls onto her hands and knees on the ice.

Bellamy sighs, crossing his arms over his chest. "Scratch that, Griffin. You really do suck."

He's laughing when he helps her up, and so is she. He always makes her laugh.

Octavia rejoins them later, and they spend another hour on the rink before their mothers call them to start packing up. It's almost midnight, and even though she doesn't get to watch the Dick Clark special with her dad that year, she does get to watch the countdown in runny McDonalds on the highway back home. Honestly, it's just as perfect.

* * *

 

_i think that you should get some rest_

_v. new year's eve 2001_

Octavia collapses on her bed, body bouncing lightly on the mattress. "I'm going to dye my hair blonde someday," she states, and points to a poster of Britney Spears on her wall. "Like Britney's - her hair is so pretty and bouncy. It's _perfect_."

Clarke turns from the TV to look at her. Jessica Simpson is performing, singing a song about a boy and a once-in-a-lifetime romance, and she wonders how much money Dick Clark made in order to agree to it.

"That's because she has people to _make it look_ perfect," she tells her.

"I can make it look perfect."

"With what money?"

She shrugs. "I don't know, I'm only 11 - I'm sure I'll find my way to success one day." She stares at the ceiling, adjusting herself onto her elbow. "And if not, I'll just marry someone else with money. People do that, you know. I read once in a magazine."

Clarke shakes her head. "You've been reading too many magazines," she says and rolls off the bed. "I'm gonna grab a Coke, you want anything?"

She nods. "Popcorn."

"With butter?"

" _Duh_."

Clarke winks. She steps out of the bedroom, the house silent except for the sound of the downstairs TV echoing Jessica Simpson voice. She shakes her head, because the only other person home is Bellamy, stuck babysitting them for the night while their parents celebrate the new year at a charity ball.

She crosses her arms over her chest and walks into the living room.

"Oh my God, Bell. If I find out you're a Jessica Simpson fan, I'm never going to - "

Clarke gasps. On the couch isn't Bellamy, but a girl around the same age, sitting with her legs crossed on the cushions.

"Oh. Hello." The girl is tall, slender; she doesn't recognize her. "Who are you?"

She raises an eyebrow. "Roma. Who are you?"

"Clarke."

"Clarke?"

"Yeah." She points to her house, visible through the living room window. "I'm their neighbour."

"Oh."

Clarke smiles tightly, her lips strained with confusion. "Yeah. So." She steps backward from the room. "Do you know where Bellamy is?"

Roma nods and points a finger towards the kitchen. Clarke leaves and follows her direction, finding Bellamy staring into the fridge. Of course, he's a total _guy_ \- completely oblivious.

She crosses her arms over her chest and clears her throat. He's got some explaining to do.

"There's a girl on your couch," she tells him.

Bellamy glances at her, a bottle of Coke in his hand. He seems amused. "So I've noticed."

"Is she your friend?"

"Yeah."

Her eyes widen. " _Girl_ friend?"

"Depends on what you mean by the word," he says. He closes the fridge door and opens the bottle, a mischievous smirk gracing his features. "She _is_ a girl, and she _is_ my friend. So technically, yes."

Clarke nods. Bellamy has a _girlfriend_. It's not that it surprised her - he was cute, and 14, and had more freckles than she could count, but he was still _Bellamy_ , and the thought of him with a girl made her blush.

"Does your mother know she's here?"

His expression falters at that. She raises an eyebrow.

"No," he admits, and he shakes his head when she gasps. "Clarke. You can't tell her."

"Why not?"

"Because she'll make it into a big deal even though it's not."

She presses her lips together, staring at him. He stares right back.

"Fine," she says and holds up her hand. "But it's going to cost you."

He's been expecting this. "Of course it is."

Clarke smiles. She walks towards the counter and opens the cupboard behind him. There's a sigh, and she knows that he's watching her, those dark eyes trying to read her expression.

She grabs a popcorn bag from the shelf. "You're friends with Finn, right?"

"Collins?" he asks. She nods. "He's a bit of a dick."

"But you know him?"

"Yeah."

"Great." She puts the bag of popcorn in the microwave. "I want you to tell him that he's cute."

"You want me to tell him he's cute?"

She huffs. "I want you to tell him that _Clarke thinks_ he's cute."

He stares at her, and she almost expects him to say no, to tell her to say it herself; but after a moment he smiles, one that is small and affectionate and leaves goosebumps on her arms.

"You like him," he says, and it's teasing.

"Is that not obvious?"

"You know he's in high school, right?" He takes another sip of his Coke. "He's my age."

"So?"

"So you're 13. What are you going to do with a 14-year-old?"

She points at the living room. "What are _you_ going to do with a 14-year-old?"

Bellamy rolls his eyes and raises his hands above his shoulders. "Alright, relax. I'll give him your message." The microwave beeps, signaling the end of the timer, and she pops it open. "But you've got to stick to your word, too."

"It's a deal."

He winks at her. "Fantastic," he says and steps away from the counter. "Now, if you don't mind, I've got a lady waiting for me in the living room." He pauses in the doorway and looks at her. "I'd stay in O's room for the rest of the night if I were you."

Clarke gags. " _Gross_ , Bell."

He laughs, and she throws a popcorn at him as he leaves the kitchen. The TV in the living room is louder when she retreats back upstairs, and she watches the final moments of 2001 with Octavia, ringing in the new year with popcorn and cans of Coke.

The next morning, when she sees Aurora, she doesn't mention Roma.

Bellamy delivers her message on Monday.

* * *

 

_i knew i loved you then, but you'd never know_

_vi. new year's eve 2002_

Her first year of high school, she makes out with Finn Collins in the field behind their school.

It's not that they haven't kissed before - he was the first lips she's ever tasted when he kissed her in the summer heat - but this was different. He wasn't her crush anymore, he was _hers_ ; the high school version of what love was supposed to feel like.

And she felt it. In that moment she truly did.

They leave the New Year's Eve party before midnight; he tells her she's pretty, gives her a sip of his beer, and lays her softly on the hard grass of the football stand. It makes her stomach feel warm and fuzzy, and when her father picks her and Bellamy up from the party a couple hours later, she feels as though she's drifting.

Her father pulls into the driveway, and Bellamy holds her elbow as she stumbles out of the car.

"Bell," she says. Her breath smells like alcohol. "Have fun?"

"Mhm. You?"

She thinks of Finn, of his hands and his lips, and tries to hide the smile that forms on her face. Bellamy hates him, has even tried to punch him once she's pretty sure, and she's not interested in adding another reason to his disdain.

Not like she cares what Bellamy thinks. He's grown sour towards her in the months she began high school. She blames it on him being 15 and an idiot.

"Oh, yeah. Tons."

Her father gets out of the front seat, and he looks at him, grinning mischievously before returning his gaze to her.

"I bet you did," he says, and she raises an eyebrow.

"What's that supposed to mean?" His smile grows wider, and she shakes his elbow, pleading. " _Bellamy_."

He leans forward, the texture of his curls rubbing against her temple. She shivers - because it's cold, obviously, and tightens her grip on his bicep.

"It's just a heads up, Griffin, and you probably already know this, but you have grass stains on your back."

Clarke gasps. _Shit_. She pulls away from him as her father curves the car to approach them, and Bellamy laughs, the sound growing in volume as she desperately tries to pat the material from her shirt, peeling the strands of grass.

They don't come out, and when her father notices he doesn't talk to her for a day, while her mother gives her a talk about safe sex and the climbing rate of teenage pregnancy.

Bellamy reminds her of the incident every day for the entire year.

* * *

 

_'cause i played it cool while i was scared of letting go_

_vii. new year's eye 2003_

A year later, after many painful encounters between Finn and her father, she brings him to a dinner party her parents throw at an event hall.

The room they rent is decorated with the arrival of 2004, streamers shadowing a silver glow over their tables. She loves it, and wears a black dress that pools at her feet when she stands. It fits her, very well she thinks, since Finn can't stop touching the wrap at her waist.

"Finn," she giggles. She's just finished dancing with Octavia, and she's out of breath when she retrieves to her table. "I don't think this is a good start to winning my dad over."

He looks at her. "I thought you said things were getting better."

Clarke sighs. It has been, but it's not what it should be. Finn is important to her, but her father is more important, and she needs him to like him. Needs him to talk about him the way he talks about Bell.

"Better, yeah. But not good enough."

"When will it be good enough?"

Clarke shrugs. "When he gets rid of his shotgun I think."

Finn gulps, expression faltering, and she presses a kiss to his lips.

"I'm kidding," she teases, but he shakes his head. "Hey, I'm _kidding_. Who wouldn't love this face, huh?" She pinches his cheeks playfully. He runs his fingers down the material of her dress again. "You'll do keep him in awe, I know it."

"It seems like it'll be easy since he seems to love Bellamy."

"Yeah," she agrees. "That remains to be a mystery to me."

He chuckles. It's a sound she hasn't gotten tired of hearing. She leans in again and presses her lips to his cheek, then his jaw; he wraps his arm around her, pulling her in and -

There's a slam on the table, vibrating the glasses and plates with its quiver. Clarke sighs and turns in her chair. She isn't surprised when she sees Bellamy standing behind her.

"Sorry kids," he says, and she wants to _punch_ him. "I interrupting anything?"

Finn rubs the back of his neck. "Actually - "

"Doesn't matter. I've brought a present." He turns the bottle so the label is facing them. _Bacardi_. Clarke rolls her eyes. "Who's ready to the ring in the new year with a bang?"

Clarke takes the bottle. "You're crazy."

"What for?"

"For even carrying this thing around." She scans the crowd for her parents, frowning slightly when she spots Roma touching up Octavia's hair across the ballroom. "My parents are going to kill you if they see you with it."

Bellamy laughs. "Kill me? Your dad is the one who gave it to me."

"Liar."

"Not lying."

"You are." She narrows her eyes. "I can tell."

"How's that?"

"Call it intuition," she tells him. "You know like in Final Destination? When they predict when the next person dies." She closes her eyes, smiling. "Guess who's death I'm watching right now."

Bellamy shrugs. "Based on the looks your old man has been sending lover boy and the shotgun he keeps in the basement, I'm guessing it ain't me." Clarke opens her eyes, gaping, and he takes the bottle from her grip. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go ask O. I'm betting she's up for it."

Clarke curls her hands into fists. She hates that he knows how to aggravate her, but then Finn says it doesn't bother him and kisses her seconds before midnight, and every trace of Bellamy slips from the uneasiness of her mind.

* * *

 

_i know i needed you, but i never showed_

_viii. new year's eve 2004_

She loses her virginity to Finn during his last year of high school.

They planned it for weeks, and she was prepared. His parents were away for a weekend in November, and his room was lit with candles and flower peddles that glowed like the stars above the football field.

Her mother told her it would hurt, but she didn't know how much. Truthfully, it hurt more than she expected - but it was okay, she was with Finn and she loved him and that made it okay.

She felt different afterward. Closer to him.

She told Octavia about it as soon as she got home.

"It was good?" Octavia asks. She was 14, effortlessly beautiful with her dark, curious gaze. "I heard it's good after a couple of times. Did you do it a couple of times?"

Clarke laughs. "One time was already painful enough."

"Well you'll do it again soon, I'm sure." She sighs and lays onto her mattress, staring at the ceiling. "I can't believe you and Finn had sex. Feels like just yesterday the only interaction you had was through MSN."

Clarke rolls her eyes, but the words struck an emotion in her heart. They were growing up. Octavia was in high school, and Bellamy was in his last year. Things were changing and they were all changing with it.

It terrified her, and she held onto that moment - carved it into her memories. A time when they were young and naive; unaware of the obstacles the future years were preparing for them.

She shakes her head. "Yeah. It's crazy," she whispers. She turns to Octavia, raising an eyebrow. "But enough about me. It's time to start spilling about that Lincoln kid you keep mentioning."

Octavia smiles, and it's wide and filled with hope. It's another moment to remember.

She fills her in, and the month of November goes by quickly. She has sex with Finn again, and Octavia kisses Lincoln for the first time at a Christmas party with her high school friends. Again, things are different, though this time Clarke doesn't mind.

That New Year's Eve isn't special. Finn plans to take her out for a nice dinner, and she puts on the black dress he likes, the one that cuts low beneath the chest, and walks into the kitchen.

Bellamy sits at her dining room table, a pile of pamphlets in his lap.

"Hey." He looks up at her. The glasses that rim his face remind her of his father. "Your mom finally keeping her word and sending you off to boarding school?"

He smirks. "No need to hide your feelings, Clarke. I know you'll be devasted when I leave for college next year."

"Is it next year or when you leave for college? Because those two happen to be different things."

Bellamy laughs. Jake shakes his head as he grabs a cup from the counter. He's been helping Bellamy decide what school he wants to go to the last couple of months. But it's been hard - he doesn't have the best grades, or the money, and it leaves him unmotivated.

"Be nice, Clarke," he says, and she rolls her eyes when Bellamy sticks out his tongue at her. "Dealing with college applications is stressful enough without you teasing him about it."

Bellamy nods. "Yeah, Clarke. Be nice."

"Shut up."

" _Clarke_ ," her father hisses.

"What?"

Her father opens her mouth, but the cell phone rings from his front pocket. He answers it, staring at her in irritation as her mother's voice echoes through the speaker.

"Hey, Abs." Bellamy pokes at her side as he talks, and she shoves at him. "Yeah. The year? Hold on, let me check." He pulls the phone away from him, stepping towards the living room. He points at Clarke. "Behave."

She huffs. Her father's voice fades into the darkness of the living room.

Bellamy breathes heavily. "You know," he whispers, and she glances at him. His grin is mischevious. "This might hurt your feelings to hear, but your dad likes me better than you."

"Yeah. And the sky is green."

"It's blue, actually."

"Shut up."

He chuckles. She hasn't seen him this carefree since Roma broke up with him last week. It's not that she liked Roma, but she thinks Bellamy liked her, and it sucked seeing him sad about it.

"So. No plans tonight?" she asks. She already knows the answer.

"Nope. You going out with Finn?"

"He's picking me up soon, yeah." She leans forward and picks up a brochure for the campus of Boston University. "You know there are counselors who can help you with this, right? You don't have to take advice from my dad."

Bellamy shrugs. "You're the one who suggested we share him."

"Share him? You can take him for yourself if you want. I'm pretty sure he's had enough of me by now."

"That's a given. We all have."

She laughs. "Right. As if any of you could live without me." She sits on the chair beside him and peers over the pile of pamphlets. "Do you have any idea where you want to go?"

"I don't know. Roma wanted me to go to Chicago with her."

"Roma was a bitch."

He snorts. "So I've noticed."

"It's about time you did. She wasn't good enough for you, and you don't need her," she tells him. She means it. "You're going to do something good. It may take you a while to figure it out, but you'll get there."

Bellamy shakes his head. "Would be easier to get there with better grades."

"Grades 'schmades. You'll find a way."

"I have a 60 in math."

She picks up the Boston University brochure. "Bump it to a 70 and you could apply to police foundations."

"I don't want to be a cop."

"Fine." She scans the programs listed on the paper. "Criminology. Social work." She gasps when she finds a good one. "History. You would love that."

He raises an eyebrow. "And become what? A historian?"

"No, you moron. A teacher. So you can teach history."

He narrows his eyes. She knows that expression - it's the one he makes when he's reading or doing homework. Concentration. She smiles when he takes the brochure out of her hand.

He looks at it, sighing after a moment. "It's not that easy," he mumbles, and the words are low and rough on his lips. "I would have to go to teacher's college. That's an extra 50 grand."

"I already told you," she says, nudging him, "you'll find a way."

Bellamy grins. The large rim of his glasses almost covers his dimples. She's tempted to take them off; they're hiding his layer of scattered freckles, and she's always loved his freckles.

He glances at her, content, and the sound of Finn's horn echoes from the driveway.

Bellamy presses his lips together. "That's always a good way to win your dad over."

"Hey. He's trying."

"I can tell," he murmurs.

Clarke smacks his chest lightly and lifts herself from the chair. Finn is scanning through the radio station when she looks out the kitchen window, scruffy hair pulled into a ponytail the way she likes it.

It's almost eight, a half-hour before their reservation, and she turns to Bellamy before leaving.

"Hold on." She breathes deeply and looks at him. "I need to ask you something."

"Okay."

She nods. "I know you don't like Finn - " He makes a face and she holds up her finger. "Let me finish. I know that you don't like him. But it would mean a lot if you would try to."

He sighs. "Clarke."

"What?" She crosses her arms over her chest. "Is it really that hard?"

"Yes. He's an ass."

"So are you."

"It isn't the same."

She shakes her head. "It doesn't matter. He's important to me, and so are you."

He looks at her. His eyes are soft, caring, and she knows he doesn't think Finn's good enough for her - or that anyone is - but she loves Finn, and Bellamy is one of her closest friends. She needs them to like each other.

It's quiet, and for a moment she thinks he'll refuse, or tell her she's dreaming, but when he nods his head she merely nods in return. It's a deal. One that she hopes he'll act on.

"Okay." He stands from the kitchen table. "Next time I see him I'll try not to think about clocking him."

Clarke smiles. "Progress."

In that moment, she thinks it'll end up working out. That Bellamy will try and Finn will try even harder and they'll eventually become friends. She thinks that when Finn kisses her that night, it's the lips she'll be tasting for the rest of her life. The body she'll never stop feeling.

But she was wrong.

She was wrong. And everything changes again.

* * *

 

_i held your hair back when you were throwing up_

_ix. new year's eve 2005_

Finn cheats on her five months before her senior prom.

And it fucking _hurts_.

The pressure in her blood feels thick, her heart an irregular beat. It feels broken - truly, painfully broken; cut into several disfigured pieces that poke at her chest each time she breathes.

He texts her in December. A fucking _text message_ , and she doesn't tell anyone. Instead, she goes to a high school party a week later, on New Year's Eve, and decides she wants to distract herself. That she wants to forget for a little while.

So she takes a shot of vodka. And another shot, and another.

She starts throwing up before midnight.

"Fuck." Harper holds her hair back. It was her house, and she brought her to the upstairs bathroom the moment Clarke said she felt sick. "Where's your phone? I need to call your dad."

Clarke wipes at her mouth and mumbles out a word. A name.

Harper doesn't hear it. "What did you say?"

"Bellamy," she murmurs. She feels dizzy again. "Call Bellamy."

Harper nods and takes the phone out of her jean pocket. She dials the number, hand soothing on her back, and when Bellamy answers she tells him that Clarke was sick, and she wanted his help.

He's at the bathroom door in less than ten minutes.

"Jesus," he whispers. He looks at Harper. "What happened?"

"I don't know. She was like this all night, it seemed like she was upset."

"About what?"

Harper shrugs. Bellamy steps into the bathroom.

"Head back down to your party," he tells her. His voice is low, rough at the edges. "I'll take care of her."

Harper nods. She lifts herself from the ground and hands him the wet cloth she's been using, murmuring something before she leaves. Bellamy sighs, closing the door behind her, and lowers himself to the ground.

Clarke throws up again into the toilet. His hands are gentle on her back.

"This is gross," she whispers. "I'm sorry."

He shakes his head. "I've seen a lot worse."

She coughs, wiping at her mouth, and leans against the bathtub. Bellamy moves closer to her, watching her with eyes that search for a cause; skin tight with concern behind his freckles.

He works part-time at an auto shop, taking a gap year while he saves up for college, and she notices a grease stain on the bridge of his nose. She wonders if he notices things in her, too; wonders if he sees what he's looking for.

"Are you okay?"

She glances at the tiles. He hooks a finger under her chin and tilts it upwards.

"Hey." His eyes are narrow, concerned. "What happened?"

"Nothing."

"Clarke, I've known you for ten years. You're going to have to lie better than that."

She stares at him. He knows her too well for her to lie, and the realization is painful when it hits her. She feels the tears sting the back of her eyes.

"Finn," she whispers. It's the first time she's said his name in days. "He has a girlfriend."

The hand soothing her back stops. "What?"

"He has a girlfriend. And she isn't me."

Bellamy's eyes burn into her, but he doesn't respond, instead holds her hair as she leans over the toilet again. She throws up, releasing the waste and the pain, and rests her forehead on the seat.

The cover is cool against her cheek. "It's okay. You can tell me you told me so."

"I'm not going to do that."

"Why not? I deserve it." She whimpers, covering her eyes. "I'm an idiot."

Bellamy sounds angry. "Finn's the idiot."

"Right. And I'm the dumbass who thought college would keep him loyal." She shakes her head as she lifts it from the toilet seat. She's so God damn tired. "Who thought I would be good enough for when - "

"Clarke," he interrupts. "That's enough."

"No." She points a finger at him. "You don't fucking get it. The girl is prettier, has - "

There's a breath, and her words are swallowed as she's brought forward. Bellamy cups her face in his hands, staring at her with wide eyes that burn with both fire and ice, so powerful they scare her.

"Stop it," he tells her, and his voice is strained. "Just stop. If you don't think you're good enough, then you are an idiot."

She opens her mouth to argue, and his fingers press into her cheeks.

"You would be for me, okay?" His eyes have grown impossibly bright in the dimness of the bathroom. "If it were me, you'd be enough."

Clarke stares at him. You'd be enough. She can't make sense of the words, doesn't know what they mean. Finn's never said them to her or made her feel like she was, and the words are enough to break her.

She covers her face, crying into her palms.

Bellamy runs his thumb under her eyes. "Hey," he whispers, "you're okay." She shakes her head, and he sighs, picking her face up from his shoulder. "Come on, let's get you home."

She nods. _Home_. That's all she wants - she wants to go home.

She doesn't remember much after that - doesn't remember leaving the bathroom and the house, or getting into Bellamy's car. But she does remember arriving at her house, remembers Bellamy helping her out of the truck, hands light on her waist as he walks with her to the front door.

Her father is waiting for her on the front porch. She cries his name when she see's him.

"Daddy."

Bellamy lets go of her as she stumbles into his embrace. Over her shoulder, she feels Jake whisper to him.

"Thank you," he says, and hugs her closer to his chest.

* * *

 

_we've come so far my dear, look how we've grown_

_x. new year's eve 2006_

The first day of 2006, she realizes things with Bellamy are different.

 _You'd be enough -_ that's what he told her, and she tries to figure out what that means.

She tries to notice if he's different with her; if he acts peculiar when he's around her - whether he gives her more compliments or finds excuses to linger his hand on her waist.

But he doesn't. He's the same. And it isn't until she feels a certain warmth in her stomach does she realizes that she's the one who's different. The one who feels more than the platonic friendship they've established the past eleven years.

She likes him, she realizes. Likes him a lot. Probably more than the freckles that she's grown to admire on his cheeks.

She thinks about it, telling him what he means to her, but something happens in March.

He gets accepted into Boston University, and everything changes.

He tells her on a cold, Wednesday morning, knocking on her front door and giving her the acceptance letter that he had found in the mail. She opens it, her tears stinging with pride, and he lifts her into a hug.

"You did it, Bell," she squeals. There's a pang in her chest when his arms circle her waist. "You found a way."

That summer he looks at apartments near his campus, moving into the city in September.

She doesn't see him again until Christmas.

He's grown more in four months, the scruff on the shadow of his jawline a cliche attempt to appear older. His shoulders are wider, chest more broad, and the feelings that she's suppressed during the year seem to bubble up when he appears at her doorstep for the Blake-Griffin holiday dinner.

He stands on her doormat, a 19-year-old Bellamy Blake wearing a Boston University sweater.

"Stardust," he greets. She usually scolds him for using the old nickname from her dad, but hearing it in his rough tone makes her blush. "Long time no see."

That night, after they clean the dishes and open presents, he stays up with her and Octavia, laughing and talking about life. She tries to tell herself she won't miss him when he leaves again.

But it's stupid to keep pretending, exhausting even, and before she knows it it's New Year's Eve, the final hours of a shitty 2006 coming to an end. Harper tries to invite her to a college party in Chicago, but Clarke's in her second attempt at senior year, and she has five exams in the first two weeks of January.

She's studying in her room when she hears the sound of rocks against her window.

"Clarke!" There's a pebble, and then a bigger rock, loud and heavy on the glass. "Open the fucking window, Rapunzel."

She walks to the window and lifts it. Bellamy stands with his arms crossed below her.

She shakes her head. "Jesus, Bell." She can see the outline of his smile in the dark. "I'm trying to study."

"Stop trying. It's New Year's Eve."

"It is? Haven't realized. Thought the fireworks I've been hearing all night were for something else."

He laughs. She's missed the sound. "Come on, princess. I'm only here for a couple more days."

"Good."

He hovers a hand above his heart. "Ouch," he says, and weighs something in his grip. "You'll change your mind once you see your present."

He lifts a case of beer. _Budweiser_. Her favourite kind. She smiles and changes into her sweater, meeting him on her front porch.

"You're so lucky it's not Molson," she tells him, and he laughs when he gives her an already opened bottle.

They walk along the streets of their neighbourhood, talking about Octavia's new boyfriend, Lincoln, and pointing at trees where they used to play hide-and-seek. It's refreshing, and he takes her to their high school football field a half an hour before midnight, both of their heads fuzzy with the beer.

"I feel like I haven't been here in forever," he says. He sounds reminiscent.

"You're not missing much. The caf food still sucks and our mascot is still the Pythons."

He looks at her. "How's senior year?"

"Even worst the second time around." She takes a sip of her beer. It's her second one. "How's college?"

"College is good."

"You know, you can be honest. Our parents aren't listening."

Bellamy shrugs. "I am being honest." He digs his foot into a grass spot. "College is college. It's like anyone would expect it to be."

"So you're drinking tons of booze and sleeping with tons of women?"

He doesn't say anything. Clarke gasps.

"Bellamy!"

He glances at her. "What?" The short scruff doesn't hide his sly grin. "Like I said - it's college. What happens on campus stays on campus."

She shakes her head. "You're such a guy."

"I've realized that, yes."

"So I guess it seems as though Finn wasn't the only guy who turned horny in college."

Bellamy narrows his eyes. "That's different. Finn was an - "

"Idiot. I know." She points across the field to the goal posts. "See that spot right there? That's the place where he gave me those grass stains from that party. I walk by it every day."

"To spit on it?"

"No." She crosses her arms over her chest. "At first it was because I missed him. But now - I don't know, I guess it's because I like the person I am without him."

Bellamy smiles. "Yeah," he whispers, "me too."

Her face feels warm - from the beer or his gaze, she's not sure, and she steps towards him, taking another bottle from the case he's holding.

"So what about you, huh?" She pops the cap and swallows a couple ounces. "You got someone special?"

"Maybe."

"Keeping me in suspense, I see."

He presses his lips together. "Yeah. That's it."

He reaches forward and takes the beer from her hand, lifting the bottle to his lips. She watches him, shaking her head with narrow eyes.

"You're always causing trouble. You know that, right?"

He tosses the empty case on the ground. "And you always stay out of it. It makes me look bad."

"Well, that's why we make a good team."

"A team, huh?"

"Yeah." The moon above them shines brightly against the freckles across his jaw. "Bellamy and Clarke. Bonnie and Clyde."

"You know, Bonnie and Clyde end rather tragically."

She shakes her head. "We're different," she whispers, and he watches as she takes another step towards him. "They were lovers - we aren't lovers."

"No." His gaze drops to her lips. "We're not."

She stares at him. There's a heat in his eyes that she's never recognized, and she wonders to herself if this was the change she was trying to look for. The change that that would indicate whether or not he wants her as much as she wants him.

You'd be enough, he told her. last year. She would be enough for him.

Clarke narrows her gaze. "Bell. I - "

Above them, fireworks erupt across the sky; an explosion of colours that scream loud in the night. She breathes heavily, her chest heaving at the sudden noise.

Bellamy glances at his phone. "It's midnight."

She steps away from him. "It's getting late." She runs a hand through the waves in her hair. "We should probably start heading back."

He nods, swallowing thickly. It's quiet on the way - not awkward, they've known each other too long for anything to be awkward - but just . . . quiet.

They arrive at their houses, and she steps onto her porch.

"Well." Her chest feels heavy as she turns to him. "Looks like this is goodbye."

"For now," he says.

"Yeah. You leaving early tomorrow?"

"Getting on the road around six."

"I see."

They stare at each other, silent again, and she presses her lips together.

"Okay, well. Guess I'll see you when I see you then."

He closes his eyes. "Clarke."

"What?"

He stares at her, not saying anything. She huffs and walks towards the front door.

"I don't know what you want me to say, Bell," she murmurs, and she hopes he can't hear her; she hates how her voice trembles. "Do you want a goodbye present? An album for the road? I'm sure my dad has a Queen CD somewhere - "

There's a creak on the porch and a sound of footsteps. Bellamy grabs her arm.

"Bell - "

He pulls her against him, and her words become swallowed by the warmth of his mouth.

She whimpers. His lips taste exactly how she imagined it would. It's soft, sweet, but he pulls away almost as soon as it happens, his gaze exploring hers as he opens his eyes.

She stares at him, searching his curious depths. His hand cups the back of her head.

"Tell me if I'm doing something stupid."

He kisses her again, and this time, the sensation almost blinds her; a combustion of the emotions she's been trying to suppress the last couple of months. She feels everything, all at once, and it fills her with overwhelming affection.

Clarke pulls away and looks at him. The warmth in her chest deepens as she holds his face between her hands.

"You're not doing something stupid," she whispers, and that's all the permission he needs.

He crashes into her, his mouth absorbing her whimper.

Her hands roam his body, his skin is warm and solid beneath her touch. She can feel the longing on his lips, and she invites it in, opening herself to him as he explores her.

His tongue enters with technique, hands caressing the skin of her back, and her gasp is swallowed by his mouth.

"Bell," she hisses. Their breathing is heavy and filled with flames. " _Jesus_."

He grunts in response, moving her backward and pressing her against the wall behind them. She stumbles into the wood, his kiss fierce and consuming, and it makes her crave him in indescribable ways.

She thinks of the months wasted imagining this, the lost moments she spent thinking of what his skin and hands feel like; and it makes her return the kiss with her own fire, pressing into him until there's no space left between them.

Because she doesn't need space, hates it actually, and the pressure is thick when she rolls her hips into his, making him dip his head into her shoulder and groan into her skin.

The noise is her new favourite sound.

He presses his lips along the skin of her collarbone when the porch lights start to flicker, and she opens her eyes, holding Bellamy's face in her hands.

"Bell, hold on." She leans her forehead against his as he clutches her. "Wait."

Her breath is rapid, same as his, and she looks above them as the light continues to flash on and off.

Bellamy glances at her. Realization dawns on them.

"Oh, my God," she whispers. He steps away from her as she straightens against the wall. "It's my dad."

Bellamy curses and runs a hand through his curls. She fixes the wrinkles in her shirt.

"I'm sorry," she tells him. His hair remains ruffled by the thread of her fingers. "I'm so sorry. But I need to go."

He nods. "Okay."

She stares at him, disheveled, and the uneasiness in her stomach forces her to hurry into her house. She closes the front door behind her and leans against it, hand hovering above her racing heart.

Her father is on the staircase in front of her, his arms crossed over his chest.

"Weren't you supposed to be studying tonight?"

"Yeah." Her voice is raspy, and she clears it. "Sorry."

He leans onto his elbows. "Was that Bellamy out there?"

"Uhm, yeah. We were just hanging out."

He nods, unblinking, and she raises an eyebrow.

"What?" she demands.

But he doesn't say anything, only smiles knowingly, as if he's the smartest son of a bitch in the world.

"Oh, shut up," she hisses. His grin grows wider when she pushes past him up the stairs.

She would have done anything to know that it was one of the last smiles he'd ever give her.


	2. Part Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaaaaaaand onto part two! Yes, you will cry more. Yes, you will laugh more, and yes - you will LOVE it even more. This chapter will tie up any loose ends, all while bringing a twinkle to your eye (and perhaps a couple more tears as well, but I don't judge).
> 
> Also. Sorry for the delay in posting - I would go into more detail, but it would probably bore you. And my job here is not to bore.
> 
> So I hope you like it. The conclusion of Say You Won't Let Go. Get ready for a (wild) ride.

_i wanna live with you, even when we're ghosts_

_xi. new year's eve 2007_

He leaves in the morning, telling her they'll talk about it.

Things had changed, he said, and he wanted time to think.

He presses a kiss to her cheek, his lips lingering, and she knows that his hesitance isn't brought on by his feelings towards her, but because he's always been a cautious man. He was a man with calculations, and strategies - one who acts when he's made all of the possible outcomes in his head.

He wants this, she feels that he wants it, but only if she does.

And she did. She _does_. But maybe she needed time to think, too.

He lived in Boston, and she was in high school, repeating senior year and yet unaware of what she wanted to do or who she wanted to be.

Her father tried to help her. He told her to go to art school, but her mother said it was a silly dream with no stable income.

"Who cares about money," her father says on the last night of January. It was a Wednesday, and they were watching the stars on the back porch. "The world needs less money, and even fewer people who think it can make them happy."

"It can, though," she says. "Can't it?"

"You tell me. What's the most important thing to you?"

"Family." She thinks of Bellamy. "Friends."

"There's your answer. As long as you have those things, you don't need anything else."

"That's stupid. How the hell do I pay for a house? For a car?"

He shakes his head. "Haven't I ever told you to take a risk, Stardust?"

"More than once."

"Okay." He nods and looks at the sky. "Then stop worrying and take a risk."

She does, and applies to UCLA for their fall 2007 semester. Her mother doesn't say anything, but her father tells her he's proud.

"See what happens when you follow your heart?"

Clarke rolls her eyes. "Yeah," she says, and she presses her lips together. Her heart aches with another question. "Hey, Dad?"

He turns to her. Her chest feels fuzzy.

"Say that you wanted to follow your heart for something else, like a guy or whatever. But it would mean risking your friendship. Would that be okay, too?"

He smiles; the one that eases her.

"Yeah. I think that would be okay."

Three days later, he's killed on a cold night in February.

The roads were icy, and a drunk driver swerved into his lane.

It took seconds. A brief calculation of time that left Clarke without a father, her mother without a husband - his corpse found snapped against the leather seat of his pickup truck.

"I need you to remember something for me," Octavia tells her after Clarke's tears had dried on her pillowcase. "If you ever get sad, just look at the stars. If your dad is anywhere, he's with the stars."

Bellamy comes home that night, entering her room mere moments after she hears his car in the driveway.

"Hey." He looks at Octavia, then Clarke. His eyes are red with unshed tears. "What do you need me to do?"

Clarke raises her hand, palm open towards him, and he climbs onto the bed. She shifts and rests her head on his chest, Octavia tracing soothing circles on her back.

"I'm sorry," he says, and she knows it's for something different, something more.

But her father was dead, and she didn't have time to think of anything else.

Things became hard, getting even harder, but Bellamy was there the entire time. Holding her close and whispering her words of comfort.

The next week, instead of wearing black to her father's funeral she wears gold, hair pinned back with a headband covered in beaded stars.

Bellamy smiles at her in the pews.

"Stardust," he whispers. He takes her hand in his. "He would've cackled at that."

Her mother says a prayer, makes some jokes about the kind of man he was, and they get lunch at a rundown Swiss Chalet off the highway.

They do what they can, and that night, Bellamy leaves again.

It's so much harder this time.

"Call me, text me, fucking make an amber alert. I don't care how you do it, but if you need me then tell me. I'll be there."

"I know."

He nods, pulling her into a hug.

"Bell," she whispers.

"Yeah?"

She rests her chin on his shoulder. "I'm sorry."

His arms tighten around her. He knows what she's referring to.

They were friends, tried to be more, and it didn't work out. It couldn't. She was lost, and he lived in Boston.

"Don't be." He pulls back and touches a loose strand on her forehead. "You worry about you. Not me. Deal?"

She forces a smile and watches him as he leaves.

And again, things were different.

She thought of her father every day, and the sadness clawed at her, made her impossible to be around. She missed him in a way that would destroy her; destructive, painful grief, and she didn't know how to make it stop.

In the summer, she gets rejected from the art program at UCLA, and she tries not to fall apart.

"Fuck that school," Octavia says. She was 17 and swore more than her brother. "We'll burn it down."

"No."

"Why not? I'm sure it would be easy since they obviously only allow stupid people."

Clarke sighs. "It's fine, O."

"It's not. I hate them." She walks to her closet and picks out a sweater. "Whatever, let's go out. Throw some eggs at cars."

And they do, but it doesn't help; it actually might have made it worse. UCLA was her dream, her dad's dream for her, and she didn't know what to do.

She was confused, a floater; and she sits on the back porch during the last hours of 2007, wishing the entire earth would open beneath her and swallow her up.

Bellamy finds her there before midnight.

He's home for the holidays, hair longer since she last saw him in the summer, and she hates that he knew where she'd be.

He looks at her, expression unreadable. "Hey."

"Hey."

"I haven't seen you in a while." He sits beside her on the porch deck. "How you been?"

Clarke shrugs. "I'm okay. How was your internship?"

"Better than I thought it would be."

"That's good."

"Yeah." He sighs and rubs his hand on the back of his neck. "Octavia told me you had plans with her tonight."

She nods. "I did."

"Why'd you cancel?"

"I don't know. I don't know if I care enough to know."

Bellamy stares at her. It's silent for a moment, and his expression grows weary.

"He'd hate seeing you like this, Clarke," he says, and the words make her shiver.

"Yeah, well." She clears her throat. "He's not here to see it."

"It doesn't matter. I can see it - and your mom, and Octavia." Each name is a bolt of pain to her chest, shaking her with emotion. "All of us can. And it's killing them to watch."

Clarke closes her eyes. "I'm trying, Bell."

"I know."

"You don't. I'm trying, but I'm fucked up."

"Clarke - "

"I am. I know that I am." She wipes the tears that begin to dribble down her cheeks. "I don't even know who I've been this year. And he always used to help me with that stuff, you know? But he's gone. And I have no idea what to fucking do."

Bellamy shakes his head. "You don't have to." She sniffles, panicking with the emotion, and he grabs her face in his hands. "Hey. You don't have to know right now."

"Bell," she whispers, "I'm 19."

"So? You've got time."

"And I didn't get into UCLA."

"Apply again next year."

She stares at him. His fingers are soft against her cheeks.

"You make it sound so easy," she mumbles.

"It's not. It won't be." He moves his hands to her shoulders, palms on her bare skin. "But you're not someone who gives up, so I'm not worried."

She closes her eyes, because - God, she's missed him. She's missed _them,_ what they could have been, and the thought makes her chest heavy with grief.

There's a break in the sky, and fireworks appear, signaling the start of a new year. She searches for Bellamy's hand on the deck.

He grabs it, intertwining their fingers. The comfort makes her smile.

"If you were right, and he did see me, what do you think he'd say?"

He grins, expression soft. "Take a risk," he says, and it's enough to break her.

Clarke whimpers, unafraid of the tears streaming her cheeks as he pulls her into his chest, whispering sweet words and pressing his lips to her forehead.

When he leaves again the next week, she promises she'll be better this year.

She applies to UCLA again in March.

* * *

 _i_ 'm _gonna love you till my lungs give out_

_xii. new year's eve 2008_

She gets the letter in July.

And Bellamy is the first person she calls.

"What school is it?" he asks. He's in Boston for the summer, completing yet another internship, and he sounds just as excited as she is. "Is it UCLA?"

She nods. "It's UCLA."

"Open it."

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"I don't know. I'm nervous." She presses her lips together. "What if I don't get in again?"

"See what it says first before you start worrying."

"Yeah. Okay." Her fingers pry at the envelope, and she lays it on the surface of her kitchen table. "Okay. It's happening."

Clarke peels the letter from the package, hesitant, careful; her hands shaking as she lifts it in front of her.

She realizes it's a letter of acceptance after she reads the first sentence.

"I fucking knew it," Bellamy says when she tells him, and she repeats the words over and over again, holding the envelope to her chest. "You did it, Clarke. I knew you would."

She smiles. _She got into UCLA._

Her father would be so fucking proud.

"We can take a plane there in October," Octavia says after she tells her. Her tears have since dried, and she bounces excitedly on her bed. "Check out some urban apartments."

"Yeah. Or should I live in a dorm?"

Octavia shakes her head. "No. An apartment. You have to be classy."

"Dorms can be classy."

"For people with herpes, maybe."

Clarke laughs. She'll miss Octavia. Miss her mother and her friends, but in some way, she needs to leave. Felt like she was always meant to.

"You can always visit in the summer, you know." She hates the idea of not seeing O every day. "Fly down on the weekends."

"Sounds good, Fancy Nancy. And will you be paying for these trips?"

Clarke shrugs. "Lincoln's got money, doesn't he?"

"Not for me." She sighs and lays on her mattress. Clarke snuggles into her side. "Don't worry, Blondie. It'll be tougher than you think to get rid of me."

Clarke smiles. It felt different, laying with her, thinking it would be one of the last times before she goes. Her semester started in January, and she had a few weeks left until she had to leave.

It was strange, scary, but she was excited.

She signs a lease for an apartment near campus, one with a view of the downtown skyline. It's a good neighbourhood, that's what she's told, and even sends pictures to Bellamy for approval.

He gives it to her, though in December, a week before her flight, he tells her that he won't be able to come home for winter break.

He had a new job in the city. And they wouldn't give him his days off.

"No way," she tells him over the phone. The thought of not seeing him before she leaves unsettled her. "You have to find a way here. I leave next week."

"I know."

"Across the country."

"I got that." He sighs. She can hear that he's frustrated. "I'm sorry, Clarke. My boss only gave me New Year's Eve off, and I work the next day."

"So drive down for a night."

He huffs. "Clarke - "

"Or I'll come up."

He's silent for a moment. She presses her lips together.

"Hello?"

Bellamy clears his throat. "Sorry. Yeah." It sounds like he's smiling. "Okay. You sure?"

She nods. "More than sure." Her stomach feels fuzzy at the thought of his expression. "I've spent every New Year's Eve with you since we were kids. I don't intend to break that tradition."

"Okay, good. Then neither do I."

She grins, and three days later she arrives at his apartment, a small duffle bag around her shoulder only mere hours before the strike of midnight.

He opens the door after the second knock, still dressed in his uniform. The smile that he gives her is infectious.

"Hi," he says.

She steps forward, wrapping her arms around him. "Hi."

He gives her a tour of his apartment. It's simple, cozy - what she would expect from him, and she blushes when he shows her his bedroom.

"You can have the bed for the night. I'll take the couch."

She rolls her eyes. "We've shared a bed before, Bell."

"Yeah, when we were kids and I didn't have to wake up every morning with a boner."

Clarke laughs, throwing her duffle bag on the mattress. "Whatever." She turns to him. "So. What you got planned for me tonight?"

He takes her to a frat house across campus; one with sweaty bodies and cheap beer that makes her throat burn with the aftertaste. It turns out to be a total cliche, the parties that she sees in the movies, but she loves it, it's fun.

He guides her through the house, an arm on her shoulder as he introduces her to people. There was Dax, the creepy dude that she should stay away from; a stoner named Monty, and some girl that had planned vengeance on him when he broke up with her last year.

"You had a girlfriend?" she asks.

He shrugs. "Depends on what you mean by the word," he responds, and she laughs, smacking his shoulder at the reference.

She meets his friends, too; Murphy, Miller, and some other dude with a funny name. They were nice, made her laugh even, and she was glad that she had them.

A couple hours later, she grabs onto his arm. It was getting closer to midnight, and they were both tipsy.

"This is amazing," she says. She leans against the wall in the upstairs hallway. It's the only empty room in the house. "Thank you for bringing me."

Bellamy shrugs. "It's not like I had a choice. You're too young for bars."

"Oh, please. You'd be surprised at what you can get away with when you're a girl."

He smiles. His skin feels warm under her palm.

"It probably wouldn't surprise me that much." His voice is low, raspy. It sends shivers down her spine. "How's home been?"

"Same old, I guess."

"You sad about leaving?"

"Yeah." She glances at him. "You sad about me leaving?"

He hovers a hand above his chest. "Absolutely heartbroken."

"I figured." She sighs, rubs her thumb across his wrist. "But your friends seem cool, probably cooler than me. I'm sure they'll be a great replacement."

He raises an eyebrow. "Replacement?"

"Yeah."

"You're crazy."

"Not crazy." Her body trembles despite his close proximity. "Just trying to make some suitable arrangements."

"For what? My new childhood best friend?"

Clarke shrugs. "I just want someone to be there for you when I'm gone, you know? It'll make me feel less . . . whatever it is that I'm feeling."

"Sad?"

"Yeah." She swallows thickly. "Less sad."

He nods, and she thinks he gets it. She thinks he's going to miss her as much as she'll miss him.

And she will. She'll miss him more than anyone.

"I don't know, Stardust. That sounds like a tough position to fill." He steps towards her in the darkness. The scene feels familiar. "There's no one quite like you, Clarke Griffin."

She stares at him. The words are a burst of emotion, strong in her chest.

She tilts her chin towards him. "Bell," she whispers, and he glances at her lips.

It's quick, the way the moment ends. There's a shout, and Murphy runs towards them, unaware of their closeness.

Bellamy steps away from her. It's immediate, how she already misses his touch.

"Blake." Murphy claps a hand on his shoulder. He's tipsier than the last time she saw him. "Shit, man. You've got to get Miller, he's throwing up all over the fucking place."

"What?"

"It's bad. I think he's going through something with Bryan. He's been boozing hard all night."

He sighs. "Where is he?"

"Downstairs. I think."

"You think?"

"I don't know." He points to the stairs. "Somewhere in the lower level."

Bellamy shakes his head. He turns to Clarke. "I'll be right back," he tells her, and she nods, watching him as he disappears from the hallway.

Murphy crosses his arms over his chest. His expression is perceptive when he looks at her.

"I wasn't interrupting something, was I?" he asks, and he sounds apologetic.

"Oh." She shakes her head, stepping away from the wall she's been leaning on. "No, not at all. We were just talking."

"About what?"

"Politics."

He smiles. "Sure. So, you enjoying Boston?"

"Very much. You guys know how to throw a good party."

"Yeah." He nudges her shoulder. "It's cool that you came. I can see why Bellamy likes you."

"We've been friends for years. It's in his DNA to like me."

"Maybe." His eyes are content as he glances at her. "He told me you're moving to LA soon."

She nods. "One week."

"Neat. You nervous?"

"Nah, but I'll miss home. I'm sure Bellamy's told you all about Westwood."

Murphy laughs. "He doesn't mention much about the town, mostly just talks about the people who live there." He points a finger at her. "Your name comes up a lot. You seem to make him happy."

It doesn't surprise her. "We have some good memories together."

"Yeah. I don't think that's all of it."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing you probably don't already know." He shrugs, tapping his foot against the wall. "I'm just saying it's good seeing you with him. Happiest I've seen him, I think."

Clarke stares at him, eyes puzzling. Bellamy reappears at the top of the stairs.

"Hey. Sorry." He glances at Murphy. "He's downstairs. I can take him home."

"It's cool. I'll do it."

"You sure?"

"Yeah." He smiles at Clarke. "You've got a guest to entertain." He pats his shoulder, turning. "I'll catch you tomorrow. Nice meeting you, Clarke."

"Right," she whispers. His words have become a dangerous cycle in her head. "You, too."

He winks, letting the darkness swallow him as he leaves. Bellamy glances at her.

"Sorry about that," he says. "Miller's a mess."

She shakes her head. "That's cool. Murphy seems nice."

"Murphy? Yeah, right."

"He does. I'm glad you have friends like him."

She smiles, looking away from him, and he narrows his eyes.

"Hey. You okay?" Realization dawns on him. "He didn't say something stupid, did he? He does that sometimes."

"Oh, come on. I'm fine." She steps away from him, tries not to notice the weariness in his features. "Now, tell me if I'm wrong, but Boston is a big city. Got any other hotspots you'd like to show me?"

He doesn't answer for a moment, his eyes calculating, but a grin returns to his face when he nods.

He wraps an arm around her and leads her from the hallway. The crowd downstairs is celebrating midnight when they leave.

He takes her to a small hotdog stand on campus, and then the city's best 24-hour restaurant downtown. He orders two milkshakes, one vanilla, and one chocolate, and it feels odd - doing things they used to do when everything was so different now.

They return to his apartment around 2:00. The mattress is comfortable when she climbs onto it.

"You need anything?" he asks. His voice is raspy with sleep. "Water?"

"I'm okay."

He nods and changes out of his clothes, stretching onto the bed beside her. She snuggles into the sheets and whispers him goodnight.

She's still awake an hour later, and she blames it on the stupid thoughts that keep circling through her head.

The stupid thoughts that Murphy put there.

Bellamy's happy, that's what he told her - "the happiest he's ever been." And it frustrates her, makes her tired of suppressing her feelings; of pretending that Bellamy doesn't make her happy, too.

She huffs and buries her face in the pillow. Bellamy shifts in the sheets beside her.

"I can hear you thinking," he says, and it sounds like he's been awake, too.

"Sorry. I can't sleep."

"Why not?"

"I don't know. My head won't shut up." She closes her eyes; voice low in the darkness of his room. "I think it's trying to tell me something."

He rolls on the mattress to face her. His gaze is gentle, it makes her crave more of him.

"Like what?" he whispers.

She shrugs. "I'm not sure."

"Clarke."

The look he gives her is knowing, and she breathes deeply, her chest shuttering as she gives in.

"I can't stop thinking about what's going to happen when I leave."

The words are crisp when they leave her tongue, and they feel vulnerable; _she_ feels vulnerable. Bellamy notices, his expression softening, and she doesn't realize how much she's needed him until he shifts closer to her on the bed.

"Are you scared?"

"Very."

"You shouldn't be. You're going to kick ass in LA."

"That's not what I'm scared of."

He looks at her, waiting to continue. She sighs.

"I'm scared of leaving everyone, of having things change. I don't want things to change."

"They might. A lot can happen in one year."

"Yeah, but I don't want them to."

He shakes his head. "Clarke." He tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Change can be good, you know. You'll only be in LA for a couple months, then you'll come back in the summer."

"Will you still be here in the summer?"

"I think so."

"I hope you are."

"Yeah," he nods, "me too."

He reaches forward, lays his palm on her cheek; and the current that runs through her elicits her, evokes a sound deep in her throat. She shifts forward, the exposed skin of her thigh brushing against him as she leans into his touch.

His eyes are darker when he glances at her. She touches the fingers on her jaw.

"I wish you could come with me."

Bellamy moves a hand to her waist. "I wish you could stay."

"Not fair. You want me to go."

He's drifting closer. Her heart races with each measure of space between them.

"Only because you want to go, and you deserve way more than what's offered here."

She shrugs. "I like some of the things here."

"Like what?"

Clarke shakes her head; she's been silent for too long, been too stubborn and afraid. She takes his face in her palms, pulling him in, pushing her feelings out - further and further until there's nothing but pure desire and need.

"You, Bell," she whispers, and the emotion in her voice is as raw and deep as the warmth inside her. "Just you. Always _you_ \- "

He kisses her, his response undeniable within the sweet pressure of his lips.

She breathes against him. Her father's words become a rhythm against her ribcage.

_See what happens when you follow your heart?_

Clarke wraps her arms around his neck, drawing him close, her legs twining between his as he rolls on top of her. She's never felt him in this way; there was always a space between them - physically or emotionally - and she feels her body grow vulnerable against him.

Because she recognizes this feeling - he's her entire heart, always has been. He's every God damn broken and beautifully damaged piece of it.

She loves him. She's an idiot but she _loves him_.

She doesn't know what that means, in the way that she does, but it's present and growing inside her.

"Bell," she whimpers.

He shifts, and he releases a shuddered breath when she curls her fists into his shirt. It's warm against his skin when she peels it off him; hands desperately exploring his bared muscles.

She throws the clothing on the ground as he returns the sentiment, large hands stripping the tank top from her body.

She's not wearing a bra underneath, breasts bare as he undresses her, and she blushes at the intensity in his gaze.

"You're staring," she tells him.

"I know."

"You can touch them."

Bellamy laughs. "I know," he says, and he leans forward, kissing her. His bare chest rubs against hers. "You have very nice breasts. I was just admiring them."

"As flattering as that is, I want you to do more than just admire - "

She gasps. He dips his head down, teasing a nipple between his teeth, and she pinches her eyes shut.

" _Damn it_ , Bell."

He closes his mouth over her breast, and she's almost embarrassed by how good it feels. She's imagined this numerous times, has fantasized about it, and she runs her fingers through his curls, holding onto him.

Bellamy groans when she entwines her legs over his waist. The sound makes her shiver.

She reaches beneath the band of his shorts.

He lowers his head onto her shoulder. "Clarke - "

She hears the strain in his voice, the desperation, and she knows what he's referring to. Her hand is still against him. She knows that if they keep going they won't be able to stop, and it could ruin her, could ruin _them_.

"I know," she whispers.

He breathes heavily into her skin. She cradles him, lifting his face from her neck.

"Listen to me," she whispers. His eyes are dark and profound. "I know, okay? But _I don't care_. I don't - "

He kisses her again, fierce, and it destroys her. Feels it destroy him and the remaining hesitancy he had.

"I don't care," he murmurs, repeating her words, and she tugs off his boxers.

It doesn't startle Clarke, how complete she feels when he finally enters her, how intimate his words are as he begins to thrust inside of her. It's almost familiar, the way he feels and sounds, and she holds onto him, tight, because she wants to.

Holds onto him because she can.

"Clarke," he rasps. He's starting to lose control. " _Fuck."_

He pulls her into his chest when it's over - when the room stops spinning and her heart returns to its regular rhythm. But they were stupid to believe it wouldn't change things; because there's a hole in her chest that wasn't there before, one that is with her when she falls asleep against him and stays when she wakes up.

It's her heart breaking, she realizes, and she thinks he might feel it, too.

And when he walks her to her car after breakfast, arms reluctant as he embraces her, words choked as he bids her goodbye, she _knows_ that he does. Knows that he loves her, too. Loves her in ways that she didn't think she was deserving of.

She texts him when she arrives in LA. He tells her he'll see her in the summer.

(They don't see each other for another three years).

* * *

_for a minute, i forget that I'm older_

_xiii. new year's eve 2009_

She begins her first semester two weeks later, during a winter that is far from the ones spent in Westwood.

It feels different; walking along the sidewalk without the familiar patch of snow and Octavia's arm linked around hers. There's no public urgency for hot chocolate, no spottings of snowmen shaped in front yards.

Yet Clarke enjoys the change, perhaps even prefers it.

LA is a bright city, as are the people who live there. Her friends in her program are just as pleasant as the classes she was taking. They're hopeful, like the city, and filled with dreams; and it comforted Clarke in a way that she didn't know she needed.

Because as magical as LA is, she still missed Westwood. Missed the town and the people she left behind.

She calls Octavia every week. She was 19; beautiful, and planning to attend Boston University in September.

"That's amazing, O," Clarke tells her on a Tuesday. "What program you taking?"

"Criminology. Like the shit they do in CSI."

"Oh, God. I think the main characters get into more trouble than the cases they're solving."

Octavia laughs. "Probably."

"Damn. Don't let your mom find out."

"My mom?" Octavia rolls her eyes. "My mom isn't the problem. It's Bellamy I'd have to worry about - that dude freaks when I go out in a tank top."

Clarke exhales, unsteady - because there it was again. The beat. The uneasiness she felt when she left him the morning after New Year's Eve.

It's the heartbreak, she remembers. The shattering of her core. All because of the simple whisper of his name.

Bellamy Blake - the boy who lived next door. The boy she hasn't spoken to in months.

They don't talk much; as expected. She didn't call every morning like she said she would, he didn't face time during the sunset like he promised - things were different, and they stopped pretending to act like they were the same.

Her roommate, Luna, tells her to forget about him. Clarke says that she's been trying.

"You don't need to try," Luna laughs. She's hanging a new poster of Jodie Smith on her bedroom wall. "You're hot. Moving on will be easy."

Clarke shakes her head. "It's not like that."

"Every breakup is like that."

"We didn't break up."

"Grew apart, stopped talking, _whatever_." She ruffles Clarke's hair and sits beside her on the bed. "All the same, Boston. But getting some action will help. Trust me."

And she does. Luna was nice, and the closest friend she's made since she moved there.

So Clarke listens to her - she goes on dates, does the hooking up thing, and even updates her profile on Facebook; yet there was still an emptiness inside of her that refused to fade. One that stays with her in the night and overwhelms her with loneliness.

When New Year's Eve approaches, Luna decides to throw a party in their apartment, and Clarke decides to stay in the city. It's her first one away from home.

She texts her mother, Octavia; sends a brief sentiment to Bellamy. It's casual, the sort of thing you would send to a distant friend, and he responds with similar words and a smile.

Her fingers pry, tempted to ask how he is. Luna snatches the phone from her.

"Luna," she whines. "Give it back."

"No way, Boston. You're at a party, stop looking like you're at a funeral."

"I don't look like I'm at a funeral."

Luna raises an eyebrow. She points to the narrow lining of her lips.

"Sad face. Check. Boobs tucked away in that black shirt. Double Check. No sex drive. Check and mate. You might as well give up on 2010 now."

"Fuck off."

Luna laughs and gives her phone back. Clarke pushes herself from the wall.

"Where are you going?"

"I need to fill up. Especially if I have to deal with you for the rest of the night."

She maneuvers through the crowd of people. She knows most of them; they're either from her program of Luna's, and she enters the kitchen pulling her stashed bottle of Vodka from the cupboard.

A voice looms behind her, unfamiliar and filled with curiosity.

"You know, I hear it's bad luck to start a new year in a bad mood."

Clarke turns around, bottle clutched in her hand. A girl leans against the counter beside her.

"Who says I'm in a bad mood?"

"You do," the girl says. She's pretty. "Or at least your face does."

"Fantastic."

"Don't worry, it's a nice face. But I'd bet I'd like your smile more."

She looks at her. The girl's eyes are dark, green depths brimming with interest.

Clarke exhales deeply. "Sorry," she whispers, because the girl seems nice and she's being a horrible party host. "I moved to LA this year. Guess I'm homesick."

"Thought I noticed an accent. Boston?"

"Westwood, yeah." She smiles, thinking of the city. "It's just this guy - I used to spend every new year with him. I think I just miss him."

"Was he your boyfriend?"

She hesitates. "Best friend."

"Damn." The girl sighs. Clarke unscrews the lid from her bottle. "That's a tough person to lose."

"Yeah. It is."

She steps towards her. "Who knows, though," she whispers, and the tone of her voice makes Clarke shiver. "Maybe this year you'll meet someone else. Someone just as important."

Clarke bites on her bottom lip. The girl's smile is a devilish one.

She pulls her into her bedroom an hour later.

It's almost overwhelming, how good her body feels against hers. The impact of her fingers and skin as they force her to scream into her bedsheets. It's powerful, she realizes, the desire she has for her. And it's exactly what she needs.

Afterward, when they've returned from their heightened bliss, Clarke trails her lips along her tanned skin.

The girl weaves her fingers through her hair. "This is embarrassing, but I don't think I got your name."

Clarke laughs. "Clarke Griffin."

"That's pretty." She presses a quick kiss to her mouth. "I'm Lexa."

In the morning, Clarke tells Luna about her during breakfast.

She reminds her how good of a friend she is for the entire week.

* * *

_and i'll thank my lucky stars for that night_

_xiv. new year's eve 2011_

It's unexpected, the moment she and Lexa find each other, and it fills the temporary hole that seemed impossible of occupying.

She comes over the night after New Year's Eve, and the night after that, and eventually it becomes a pattern that neither of them wants to stop. Lexa is beautiful, smart; and Clarke becomes determined in knowing her.

She asks about her desires and her dislikes, learns of how her mother abandoned her when she was a child. She learns that she's in school to become a lawyer, has never seen Star Wars, and that she puts salt instead of sugar in her coffee.

Somewhere in between these moments, she falls for her - completely and suddenly - and the emptiness within her feels like a rustling breeze.

In the summer, Clarke decides to make it official, asking her to be her girlfriend in a rundown Denny's in July.

Lexa laughs. The sound is something Clarke can't get enough of.

"You're asking me now?" she says. " _Right now?_ "

Clarke shrugs. "I know it's not romantic - "

"That's not what I'm worried about. I thought we've been official since January."

"You have?'

"Yeah. Sex isn't official enough for you?"

Clarke bites on her bottom lip. "I don't want to be just sex official." She dips her buttered pancakes into Lexa's syrup. "I want to be 'official' official. Like with the labels and stupid Instagram posts - I want all of it."

"Sounds horrible. I'm in."

Clarke laughs. It's a good night.

A good _life_ , she realizes. Because Lexa makes her happy, and she's attending a great school in one of the most magical cities in the world. She's content, blissful; and things are how they should be.

But she was an idiot to believe this cycle of happiness would last, that it would remain guaranteed and untouched in her essence.

She sees him again during the final hours of 2011, three years following their last encounter. Life was busy, they were in different cities - communication had lacked during the past few months.

But Lexa was working late that night, and she decides to grab a drink at her favorite bar.

His tamed curls are the first thing she notices in the crowd.

"Holy shit." She steps off her stool and walks towards him. Her hands are slightly trembling. "Bell?"

He turns to her. The freckles on his cheeks have expanded.

His eyes widen to an overwhelming depth. " _Christ_. Clarke?"

"Yeah. It's Clarke."

He stares at her, eyes calculating. And she doesn't even realize she's nervous until he smiles, and the tension fades from her body.

He pulls her into a hug. His arms feel familiar around her waist.

"Jesus," she whispers. She leans back to examine the short stubble growing along his jaw. "You look . . . "

He raises an eyebrow. "Different?"

"I was going to say old."

He chuckles. "You'll get there."

She grins. It's stupid how much she's missed him. He looks more mature, perhaps; the suit and jacket fitting tightly on his body. He's as though he has grown up.

Grown up and changed. But damn has s _he fucking missed him_.

"I'm sure I will," she murmurs. Her voice fills with curiosity. "What are you doing in LA?"

"I'm in the city for work."

"That's right. Octavia told me you work with the bank."

"For now." The smirk he gives her is the one that weakens her knees. "I'm trying to get my teaching degree, though. To become a professor."

Clarke nods. "History?"

"History," he confirms.

She smiles, her gaze softening. It's almost uneasy how comfortable she is with him - even despite the years and the distance and the circumstances in which she left.

Clarke bites on her bottom lip. The closure filled within is beginning to crack.

"Well, I always said you'd find a way, right?"

"That's right."

"When does your trip end?"

His grin slightly falls. "I fly to Boston tomorrow."

The Dick Clark countdown declares two hours until midnight on the bar television, and Clarke nods, sighing; peeling her jacket from her shoulders. She sits beside him and beckons the bartender towards her.

"Two whiskeys. On the rocks." She turns to Bellamy. His eyes are filled with mischief. "Unless you still need something to balance out the taste."

He chuckles. She texts Lexa that she'll be home late that night.

They swallow their whiskey, order two more, and she tells him about the things that he's missed. She talks about her program, tells him stories about her crazy roommate, the one with a big heart; and she listens as he fills her in on the changes in Boston.

It's fun, easy like it used to be. She laughs in the measure she's forgotten she was capable of.

An hour later, they're stumbling along a path outside of the city. Her senses have become dull from the liquor.

"You're not bringing me out here so you can kill me, are you?"

"If I was, I would have done it while you were singing Nickleback."

She leads him to a fence, and he follows her as she climbs it. The Hollywood sign is visible above them, the paint a light in the darkness, and he sits beside her on a patch of grass beneath the letters.

Bellamy shakes his head in disbelief. The city is radiant below them.

"Christ, Stardust." He breathes deeply, taking in the view. "You must love it here."

"Yeah. But I do miss Boston sometimes." It's quiet for a moment, crickets beating in the night. She looks at him. "Did you know my mom is dating again?"

"I did. I saw her a couple days ago."

"Was she with anyone?"

He hesitates. "Yeah."

"Okay." She thinks of her father, what he would want. "Did she seem happy?"

He nods. "Yeah," he whispers, a hint of content in his voice. "She did."

Clarke grins. The answer fills her with an automatic relief.

"That's good," she murmurs. _Really good_. She wants more than anything for her mother to be happy, for all of them to be happy. She nudges her shoulder against his. "And what about you?"

"What about me?"

"Are _you_ happy, Bellamy Blake?"

He stares at her. "Yeah. I think so."

"You _think_?"

"Relax," he laughs. "I am. I'm happy." A firework appears above them, signaling the approach of midnight, and he ruffles the blend of his curls. "I'm seeing this girl. Nothing serious, but . . . she's fun."

"You're seeing someone?"

Bellamy glances at her. "Is that bad?"

"No." She presses her lips together. "I'm seeing someone, too."

"Oh."

"Yeah. She's studying to be a lawyer."

He blinks. "She?"

"She. Female. Woman. Whatever you want to call it." She shrugs, exhaling deeply. "To be honest, I didn't expect it either."

He nods. His hand finds hers on the grass.

"As long as she makes you happy, Clarke. All I want is for you to be happy," he tells her, and she hates him.

Hates all of it; hates how after all this time, after the miles of space between them, he still makes her feel _that_. That emptiness she thought Lexa had filled and suppressed until there was nothing but faded memories.

But then she looks at him; notices his brown, powerful eyes reflecting the depth of her gaze.

And God was she wrong.

"Bell," she whispers, and she doesn't know what to say, or how to say it, but she thinks he might feel it, too.

He stares at her, expression warm despite the night, and she _knows_ that he does.

"Do you ever think about it?" she asks. The words taste strange after years of ignoring them. "What would have happened if I didn't leave?"

Bellamy breathes, deep and profound. "I think about it every day."

Clarke's fingers tighten around his palm. Her heart is an irregular rhythm against her chest.

The sound of fireworks dawn above them. "In 12 hours, you'll be back in Boston."

"And you'll still be here."

"Yeah." She swallows thickly. "I'll still be here."

There's a moment - a brief moment where she hesitates; where she thinks of Lexa and the life she built without him. She was over him, she tells herself, but then he glances at her lips, and her resolve shatters in his gaze.

She leans towards him. His hands cup her jaw.

The sound is faint at first, a mere calling in the distance, but she hears it before their lips can touch - a warning. Clarke turns and looks for the source.

She see's blue, and a dim flashlight; all belonging to a wandering police officer on the hill.

"Oh, fuck."

She pulls away from Bellamy. He stumbles as she rises to her feet.

"We have to go," she tells him, and she clutches his hand as they run towards the fence.

He watches as she climbs, and follows her once she lands on the ground. The officer's voice gains volume behind them, and she rushes him, nearly laughing as he struggles over the wire, his large feet a trouble to the coil.

"Bell," she gasps. Her ribs hurt from giggling. "Come on."

A mere moment and he loosens his footing, joining her on the other side of the fence.

She takes his hand again. The officer's calling fades as they run along the trail.

"If we get caught," he hisses, but he's laughing, too. "I'm blaming it all on you."

They stagger down the path, their voices subdued by the fireworks erupting above them. She glances at her phone - it's midnight, a new year, and her fingers tightens around his wrist in the darkness.

The streets of the city come into view, a bright contrast to the forest they're stumbling in, and she turns to him while they're still covered by the trees.

"Bell - "

His hands cup her jaw, and she recognizes the tenderness in his eyes as he pulls her against him.

She gasps, and he falters; keeping her close as he gazes at her.

"Clarke." The sound of the city is an undesired reality before them. "Tell me if I'm doing something stupid."

She stares at him, _Bellamy_ \- and she thinks of Lexa, of the girl he has back home. She thinks of the years she spent trying to forget about him, and how truly, effortlessly _stupid_ it would be if she gave into this, into them; and whatever tether they kept returning to.

She shakes her head, clutching his face between her palms.

"Bell," she sighs. "This is stupid, yeah. _Really_ stupid." She closes her eyes, trembling. "But I don't care. I don't - "

He leans in, his lips rough as he presses them against hers.

And for the first time in a while, perhaps the first time since she last tasted them, she feels complete.

She realizes then, that the hole in her heart wasn't a hole at all - but that it was waiting for someone to fill it. Not by Lexa, but by him; the man who caused it had become the only man who could destroy it.

Clarke breathes and pulls him close. The tether between them tightens.

"Bell," she whispers. She just wants to say his name.

His hands grip ferociously against her cheeks, and it allows her to melt into him. She feels his desperation, tastes it on his lips, and she returns it; kissing him with the passion that she had forgotten was within her.

Another firework erupts above them, and Bellamy draws away. He kisses her jaw, her cheek, peppering his lips along her skin.

Clarke exhales. She knows what's coming; can feel the shift in his arms and the urgency in his touch.

She closes her eyes, clutching the collar of his shirt as he leans his forehead against hers.

"Clarke." His voice is low, the word a broken whisper. "Keep your eyes closed."

She smiles sadly. "I know."

There's a shudder, and she feels the return of her emptiness; because when she opens her eyes, heart thrashing and lips swollen from his kiss, he's gone. Vanished into the city before she could even mourn the absence of his body.

It's powerful, the grief she obtains, and that night she tells Lexa what happened.

There's a lot of screaming, crying - but Clarke doesn't feel anything at all, and once again the hole opens up, swallowing her back in.

* * *

_so i wrote this song for you, now everybody knows_

_xv. new year's eve 2012_

The year of 2012 is, for the most part, the worst year of her entire life.

It begins in January, when Lexa breaks up with her. Clarke expects it, prefers it even; but then she calls her an 'emotionally unstable bitch' before she leaves and steals half of her shit while she's doing so.

She's not sure whether it's because Lexa thought it was her own shit, or just wanted to get back at Clarke for being a shitty girlfriend, but either way, it fucking pisses her off.

She steals her clothes, two tubs of vanilla ice cream, and four bottles of wine. It was a tragedy, but it was also the beginning of the year; and Clarke thought that maybe, just _maybe_ , things could get better.

Then weeks later, in February, she spends Valentine's Day in a butcher shop near the highway.

In April, Dick Clark dies of a heart attack

And in June, when she graduates from UCLA with a fucking degree in _art_ , she realizes that art is only a hobby and there was no potential for getting a job in it.

In August, she realizes LA had given up on her, and that she was in the middle of a quarter-life crisis.

She was 24 - single and broke; and for a moment she had almost wished for the rumors to be true, that the end of the world would occur in December, and the universe would give up on her, too.

She tells Octavia about it, and she gets on a plane a couple months later.

It's three days before New Year's Eve when she arrives, bursting through her apartment with her duffle bag.

" _Clarke Fucking Griffin_." She enters her room and pulls the sheets off her bed. Clarke covers her eyes from the sunlight. "Get up you lazy sack of potatoes. It's time to start living again."

"Fuck off. It's morning."

"Fuck you. It's noon."

Clarke opens her eyes. "Oh."

"Yeah. _Oh_." She leans forward and tugs on her arm, dragging her from the mattress. "Now come on, I've got a lot of damage to repair over the next week. The first item on the list - take a shower. You smell like a Boston locker room."

"That's extreme."

"You need extreme. Now get your skinny ass to the bathroom."

She groans, but she listens. She hadn't taken a shower in days. The water is warm on her skin, soothing, and an hour later, after she washes her body and conditions her hair, she walks into the living room.

Luna glances at her. "Oh, my God," she says, blinking. "Clarke? Is that you?"

She rolls her eyes, giving her the finger. Octavia holds her side as she laughs.

And for a moment, it doesn't seem like her world is spinning. That maybe she'll find her purpose.

Over the next few days, she fills Octavia in. Explains to her the details on how her life had escalated into a chaotic mess. She starts with the impact of losing her father, then the annoyance of losing Lexa; though leaves out the important loss of Bellamy, and the emptiness he left in his wake.

Octavia listens, and it helps. She wipes away her tears when she cries about her dad, and calls Lexa a psychopath when she vents about their break up.

On New Year's Eve, they get drunk at a bar near Venice Beach.

It's fun; Octavia orders whiskey sours, and then vodka cranberries, and they're wasted when the countdown commences, kissing each other on the cheek as they celebrate.

A couple hours later, they stumble into Clarke's apartment, collapsing on the bed.

Octavia snuggles into a pillow. "Tonight was fun."

"Yeah. I'm glad you're here."

"Me, too, Stardust." She sighs and turns to face her on the mattress. "Me and your mom were starting to worry about you."

Clarke frowns. "My mom was?"

"Yeah. She almost came up with me."

She presses her lips together. It's silent for a moment.

"I'm glad she didn't," she says. "I don't like her worrying."

Octavia nods. It's quiet - a certain word itches on Clarke's lips. One that has the potential to shatter whatever security she felt as though she was building.

She looks at Octavia, finding her strength.

"How's Bell?"

Octavia shrugs, unaware of the weight surrounding her answer. "He's okay. He's getting his teaching degree."

"Good for him."

"Yeah. think he misses you."

Clarke closes her eyes. "I think I miss him, too." She breathes deeply. She can hear the echo of celebration in the city. "Hey, O?"

"Mhm?"

"We kissed, last year. It's why I broke up with Lexa."

There's a beat. Octavia finds her hand in the darkness.

"I know."

"You do?"

"Yeah. He only told me he saw you, but I could tell something happened."

Clarke nods. "Yeah," she whispers. She thinks of his lips, the urgency she felt when she was kissing him. "Something happened."

It's quiet for a moment. Octavia squeezes her fingers.

"Are you in love with him?" she asks, and it sends a burst of revelation through her core.

She breathes deeply. "I think so." She can sense the tears building behind her eyes. "I really don't want to be."

And she doesn't. She doesn't want the emptiness that dwells inside her or the pain of missing him. She doesn't want to think about him every day, what he's doing, who he's with. She wants love, but not with him, not with someone she can't have.

It's not until the morning, after Octavia leaves, that Clarke notices the universe didn't end up caving in on itself. That although it was thought to, the world kept on - and so will she, one confusing day at a time.

* * *

_just say you won't let go_

_xvi. new year's eve 2013_

In February, she realizes she had begun a dangerous cycle - one that she has no intention of stopping.

Or rather, one that she has no idea _how to stop_.

The cycle was easy to recognize; a mere explanation behind the disorder surrounding her life. She was jobless, relationshipless - her hours were spent trying vegan recipes from skinny people cookbooks and wasting her dead father's money on rent.

She was lost; a confused graduate with no job prospects and a quarter of the determination she had when she first started university.

So, instead of unhealthily dealing with her boredom through alcohol and drugs, she turns to TV as her scapegoat - more importantly, HBO.

And even more importantly, HBO On Demand.

She binge watches the first two seasons of _Game of Thrones_ under ten hours, even forms a harmful crush on Vincent Chase from _Entourage._

Though it isn't until the second week of March that she begins _Sex And The City_ , and she develops a bit of an addiction.

So, naturally, it sort of puts things into perspective.

Because as much as wants to be Carrie, she realizes that she's the Miranda of the group - cynical, experimental with her sexuality, and resentful of every man who dared to question her desire beyond a one-night stand.

Then something happened, or rather, she had something that people like to identify as a "wake-up call."

It was a Tuesday, two bowls deep into a bag of Doritos when Carrie Bradshaw shared her infamous wisdom.

_Eventually, all the pieces fall into place . . . until then, laugh at the confusion, live for the moment, and know that everything happens for a reason._

That night, after dusting the cheese dust from her fingers, she applies to ten openings online. And when she's rejected by them, she applies again, and again, until she successfully starts to actually give a damn about her future.

Later, Luna tells her she needs experience in order to get hired, and so she goes into the world to do exactly that.

For a couple months, she works as a secretary at LA's Natural History Museum. It's not where she wants to be, but it's a start, and she thinks that it might be a start to _something good_.

In August, she posts her resume on an online scouting website, and a company representative messages her two weeks later.

"Holy shit." It's a warm afternoon, the windows wide open in the living room, and she glances at Luna. "I got a God damn message."

She blinks. "From God damn who?"

Clarke opens the link. Her eyes widen as she scans the computer screen.

"Holy shit."

" _Clarke_."

"It's from the Museum of Fine Arts," she mumbles, and when Luna looks at her in confusion, she turns the screen towards her. "That's the one in Boston."

She expects Luna to be upset, maybe a little reluctant, but she pushes herself from the couch, wrapping her arms around her waist.

"I never thought you'd leave," she teases, and Clarke laughs tearfully into her shoulder. "Take that fucking job, Boston. I mean it. Make me proud."

And Clarke does; packing her things within a week and moving to Boston at the end of November. Luna tells her she'll visit, and she rents a furnished condo at the edge of the city.

It's in the same building as Octavia's, and only an hour drive from her mother's home in Westwood.

And suddenly, things were starting to fall into place.

"This is fucking insane," Octavia says when she visits the apartment. "Your view is better than mine."

"I'm pretty sure it's the same view."

"No way. When we have parties, we're having them here."

Clarke laughs. She was home, _happy_ , and had a job that she enjoyed. She was doing exactly what Carrie Bradshaw and her father had wanted her to do - she was living without limits or fear.

She was just simply _living_.

On Christmas, she meets her mother's boyfriend for the first time.

His name is Marcus Kane, CEO of a startup company in the city. He's funny, seems like a good man; though more importantly, he seems like a good man to her.

A week later, after festivities and the parties had dwelled, Octavia decides to throw her a gathering on New Year's Eve.

She decorates her apartment in banners and glitter. A silver streamer falls onto Clarke's when she enters the kitchen.

"Jesus, O," she chuckles. She removes the string from her mouth. "Are you sure this is a homecoming party or just another excuse for you get shit-faced in front of your colleagues?"

"Who said it can't be both?"

"It's your apartment." She lifts herself onto the counter. "Who else did you invite?"

"I mean, I know for sure Lincoln is coming, and Harper, a couple other kids from high school." She gasps suddenly, tapping her wrist. "And Finn. Finn might be here."

"You invited, _Finn_?"

"Yeah! It's your first gathering since you've been back. It would be cute to have a reunion."

"A reunion - " Clarke huffs, shaking her head. "O. He cheated on me."

"Like seven years ago."

" _Octavia_."

"Oh, relax and keep your panties on, Griffin. It was an innocent Facebook invitation." She shrugs, lining the champaign bottles on the table. "He probably won't even end up coming. "

She narrows her eyes. "Okay. What about Bell?" They haven't spoken in months, and she's nervous to see him. "Is he coming?"

"Yeah, but I didn't tell him the party was for, you know, you."

"Why not?"

"Well . . . " Octavia turns to her, bashfull, "you know how I was supposed to tell him you were moving back?"

"Yeah. So you could spare me from the pain of telling him myself?"

"Right. That didn't happen."

"Octavia."

"I know, I know. But I never found the right time." She huffs, placing her hands on her hips. "Plus, he would have gotten all confused, and you know how bad I am at giving advice."

"No shit."

The doorbell to the apartment rings, announcing the first guest, and Octavia claps her hands.

"Guess we'll have to postpone this convo later." She pushes Clarke's breasts above her shirt. "Now put your party face on, Homecoming Queen. You're the star of the show."

She opens the door, revealing Harper and Monty behind the frame. It's strange, seeing them, but Clarke smiles when Harper hugs her, and they pop the first champagne bottle of the night.

Three bottles later, the gathering has turned into a party, music blasting from Octavia's speakers.

She sees people from her high school, the people she forgot even existed. Some of them are married, divorced, a guy from the football team has been divorced _twice_. She sees women thinner than her with kids, and a woman thinner than her while fucking carrying a kid.

It's crazy, how much life has changed, and she dances with Octavia to the Backstreet Boys in her living room.

She's happy, having fun, and it isn't until an hour later when she see's him again.

She had just finished talking with Lincoln on the balcony, and she stumbles inside the apartment, head dizzy from the wine when she bumps into him.

"Oh, fuck." His hands grip her elbow for balance. "I'm sorry, I - "

His voice is low when he recognizes her, eyes narrowing into slits.

"Clarke?"

She glances towards him. He looks different again, older, fingers wrapped around a beer.

She's an idiot for thinking seeing him again wouldn't destroy her.

"Bell." She forces a smile. "Hey."

"What are you doing here?"

God, does she hate Octavia. "I - "

There's a calling of his name, the sound of a voice approaching, and a woman walks towards them - tall and skinny.

"Babe, when are we - " She blinks when she notices Clarke. She was pretty, dark hair, even darker eyes. Bellamy's type. "Oh. Hi. I don't think I know you yet."

Clarke stares at her. Bellamy clears his throat.

"Yeah, uh. Echo," he gestures towards her. "This is Clarke."

"Clarke?" She tilts her head to the side. A moment passes before the name resonates. "Clarke. Right, the neighbour."

"Yeah." She presses her lips together. "The neighbour."

"You live in LA, right?"

She glances at Bellamy. "Uhm, I did. I actually just moved back."

His eyes harden, unmoving, and she notices the tightening of his grasp around his beer.

Echo smiles widely. Clarke hates how nice she seems.

"That's awesome, we'll have to grab a drink sometime. I'd love to know how Bell was as a kid."

Clarke nods. "Yeah, that'd be nice." She watches as Echo's arm wraps around his waist, comfortable, and she steps back. "I'm sorry." Her chest feels heavy. "If you'll just excuse me . . . "

She turns from them and walks through the living room, squeezing through the crowds of people.

She isn't surprised when she hears him calling her name.

"Clarke." His voice is strained. "Hey."

He reaches for her arm as she steps into the empty hallway.

"Clarke, come on - "

"What?" She turns and looks at him. "What do you want from me, Bellamy?"

He narrows his eyes. "Nothing," he whispers. The answer annoys her, and she steps back. "Clarke, stop. Just . . . " He sighs. "Why didn't you tell me you were moving back to Boston?"

"Should I have?"

"Yeah," he tells her. "Yeah, you should have."

She glances at Echo in the living room, watching as she laughs about something with Harper.

She swallows thickly and turns back to Bellamy.

"Well. It doesn't seem like it would have mattered anyways."

"What the hell are you talking about?" He steps towards her. "It matters. How can you not fucking see that, Clarke?"

She closes her eyes. "Stop."

"It would have mattered. It still does."

"You really believe that?"

"Yeah. I do."

She frowns. "You're an idiot."

"Clarke - "

"What do you want me to say, Bell? Huh?" Her eyes burn with unshed tears. It feels like she's about to combust. "That now that I'm in Boston, we can finally be together?"

"Why can't we be?"

She shakes her head. "Because we don't fucking work," she hisses. The words are loud, drowned out by the music. "We never have. It's been like this for years and we always screw it up."

"That's not true."

"It is true. We've tried this before. It's probably time to just . . . move on."

Bellamy stares at her. The expression on his face nearly breaks her.

But it needed to be said. They weren't meant to be, and it hurt too much to keep thinking they were. He was different, their lives weren't in synch, and she was tired of the painful cycle they had become.

She steps away from him. The tears have begun to fall down her cheeks.

"You should go," she says, because she can't look at him anymore if she wants to be strong. "Your girlfriend is probably wondering where you are."

She doesn't wait for him to move. Instead, she's the one who turns from him, walking down the hall and into the bathroom, her palms cupping her face as she cries.

It's pathetic, and Octavia finds her moments later.

"Oh, Homecoming Queen. Where are thou, Homecoming Queen?" She opens the door, stumbling as she enters. The music outside is loud and overwhelming. "Get up, silly. The party is - "

Clarke glances at her, and that's when she realizes the tears streaming down her face.

"Woah, woah." She kneels beside her and cups her cheeks. "Hey. Talk to me. What happened?"

Clarke shakes her head. "Nothing." But then she thinks of Bellamy, of his expression when she left, and -

"I'm an idiot," she whispers, and cries into Octavia's shoulder.

* * *

_oh, and you look as beautiful as ever, and i swear that every day you'll get better_

_xvii. new year's eve 2014_

In the end, he chooses Echo, and she tells herself it's better this way.

The world was unkind, and happy endings were only seen in the movies.

It takes time, but she tries to move on. She goes on dates, finds hopeless people to fool around with, but when a man falls asleep on her one night, she thinks that maybe she's doing this all wrong.

That maybe Samantha Jones was right.

_The good ones screw you, the bad ones screw you, and the rest don't know how to screw you._

The man snores beside her, and yeah - she feels as though the entire fucking world just kept screwing her.

"You're getting cynical," Octavia claims when she tells her. It was a Sunday, and they were doing their morning yoga class. "And giving up. Bellamy isn't the only good guy out there."

"Who said he was a good guy?"

Octavia rolls her eyes. "Whatever. A good guy for _you_." She stretches onto the mat, rolling her shoulders forward. "I have someone in mind for you. He's adorable, works in my building, and word is he's great with his mouth."

"O, I'm 26-years-old. I don't want blind dates."

"It's not a blind date. I'm telling you who he is."

"That's the same fucking - "

A lady beside them holds up her finger to silence them, and Clarke gives her a finger as well, though hers is in the middle.

Octavia sets up the date for New Year's Eve.

Clarke refuses at first, but she caves the night before. It was about to be a new year, and maybe she could find someone new to go with it.

She wears a red dress, curls her hair, and takes a taxi to Giacomo's.

He's there before her, and even more handsome than Octavia described, ordering two steaks from the menu.

"So. Myles." They had just finished their meal, and Clarke leans in her seat, fingers caressing a glass of red wine. "What is it that you do?"

"I'm a divorce lawyer."

"Oh." She presses her lips together. "That's . . . sad."

He chuckles. "Yeah. It's not an impressive thing to say on a first date."

"No, no. I'm interested. What made you want to be a divorce lawyer?"

"I'm not sure. My parents got a divorce when I was young, and it got really nasty. Cost them thousands of dollars. I guess I just want to try and make things simpler for others.

Clarke nods. "I don't think a divorce would ever be simple."

"No, but that's why you have to find someone easy to love. Or at least, that's what I think."

She raises an eyebrow. "Easy?"

"Yeah." He takes a sip of his wine. "Love isn't supposed to be hard. If it is, then it's probably not love, or at least not with the right person."

"That's what you think?"

"It's what I know." He beckons the waitress forward and orders a bottle of champagne. "Listen, I know it sucks to hear. But most of the people I represent just end up hating each other. It amazes me why they even got married in the first place."

She shrugs. "They probably loved each other at one point," she says. "Sometimes things just . . . get in the way."

"If it's true love, nothing will get in the way."

Clarke narrows her eyes. "Yeah, it will," she tells him. "Love is the hardest thing in the entire world. Because once you find that person, the person who completes you, you just . . . you can't let go."

Myles stares at her, curiosity filling his gaze, but she doesn't even notice - the emotion is blinding.

The revelation is strong this time, and she feels it grow, powerful and raw inside her. It's love, she realizes, the stuff that makes her fucking crazy. And even though it rips at her soul and breaks her heart, she still feels it, craves it.

Because it makes her feel alive, even as it destroys it. Makes her want to _keep fucking living._

She laughs, a tearful one, and Myles narrows his eyes.

"Are you okay?"

She glances at him. "I'm so sorry, Myles," she says. "But I am someone who is looking for love. Real love. Ridiculous, inconvenient, can't-live-without-each-other love. And I don't think that love is here, in this expensive suite." She exhales, shaking her head. "In this lovely hotel, in Paris."

He stares at her. His glare has hardened into confusion.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"I apologize. You seem like a nice man." She pushes herself from the table. There's an eagerness within her that won't settle. "But there's somewhere I have to be."

She grabs her coat, nodding at him as she leaves - leaves her hesitance, her fear, and waves down a taxi outside the restaurant.

She gets to his apartment in minutes, fists urgent on his front door.

Bellamy answers on the third knock.

"Clarke."

She walks past him and enters his living room. Her breath is heavy, racing against her heart.

He looks at her. "What are you doing here?"

Clarke turns to him. She's trembling, only slightly, though the presence of him makes her feel strong.

"To say something really stupid," she whispers. Her voice is raw, dripping with emotion. "But also important."

He narrows his eyes, stepping towards her.

"Clarke - "

"I love you." The words echo off his walls, strong and vulnerable in the darkness. She laughs, because she feels _good_ , her chest lifted from the weight of it. "Wow. That feels really good to say."

He stares at her, his expression unreadable, but it doesn't discourage her. It doesn't stop the burst of emotions pouring from her.

"You don't have to say anything," she tells him. "I know you're with Echo. Respect that, even. But God, I just wanted you to know. Or maybe I just wanted to finally say it. Because I am - I'm completely, stupidly, disgustingly in love with you." She laughs, shaking her head. "It's almost pathetic."

She can see the emotion in his gaze, the ones he's trying to fight, and her eyes burn with unshed tears.

But she keeps going. She doesn't even know how to stop.

"And maybe this won't work out, you know? Maybe, we'll never get our shot. Because we keep missing each other. Life keeps getting in the way. And I've tried so long to stop myself from feeling this way, but I can't. So. I just needed you to know."

Her chest heaves, with freedom - with love. Maybe with something more.

But he knows. That's all she wants. For him to know, and to be happy.

She just wants him to be _happy_.

Clarke presses her lips together. His expression is unreadable.

"I'm not expecting you to say anything back, or - "

"I broke up with Echo."

She stares at him. "What?"

Bellamy nods. His eyes are dark, burning with emotion.

"Last month. I told her I couldn't be with her," she steps towards her, and maybe this is the something more, "because I wanted to be with someone else."

She stares at him, and that's when he smiles. Wide and perfect. A smile just for her.

She walks towards him. "Bell."

This kiss is fierce, strong, like the night in his dorm.

But it's warm, tender, and real against her.

 _Finally_.

His arms wrap around her, pulling her close, arms strong and reluctant of ever letting her go. She can feel the response on his skin, tastes it on his mouth as he kisses her, and it fills her heart with the warmth it had been lacking since she last felt him.

After a moment, she pulls away. Her breathing is heavy as he leans his forehead against hers.

"Clarke," he whispers. "You should know something." He holds her face between his hands, gentle, thumbs grazing her cheeks. "I love you. Have my entire life." He kisses her, whispering the words into her lips. "And I'll love you for the rest of it."

She smiles. He trails kisses down her neck.

She thinks he's her soul mate, Bellamy Blake, and when she tells him that, he smiles - the kind that makes her heart skip. The kind that he gives her when he says it back, when he lowers her to the bed, the kind he gives when she whispers him good night.

It's her favourite smile, and it's with her in the morning.

She thinks it might be with her for the rest of her life.

* * *

_i promise till death we part like in our vows, 'cause now it's just you and me till we're gray and old_

_xviii. new year's eve 2016_

He buys an engagement ring two weeks later, and proposes in the spring.

It was a Sunday, and they were at their mother's house for dinner.

He brings her onto the back porch. The stars were clear the night, the sky a certain blue, and he asks her to find him a constellation, using her father's telescope to gaze into the night.

She finds Cassiopeia, her favorite. Her father's favorite, too.

When she turns to him, he's leaning on his knee, a ring box on his palm.

She says yes before he can even finish the question.

"He took me to four different stores in one day," Octavia says the next morning, after she shows her the ring over breakfast. "Four, Clarke. It was insufferable."

Clarke laugh. "That's not insufferable. That's romantic." She glances at Bellamy and presses a short kiss to his lips. "I love it."

"I love _you_ ," he whispers.

She coos, and he lowers her onto the table, deepening the kiss.

"Are you fucking kidding?" Octavia groans. Lincoln laughs from the living room couch. "We eat there, you know."

They marry on a summer day in August. Marcus is the one who walks her down the aisle.

She cries through their vows, and they spend the entire night dancing, leaving in the morning for Hawaii.

It's beautiful, peaceful; and on the third night, they pretend to be British tourists at dinner.

It's the funniest night of her life.

They stumble into their room after, tearing at their clothes. He lowers her on the bed, and she giggles, slightly tipsy, her legs winding around his waist.

"Oh dear, I think we're about to . . . " She pauses. He trails his lips softly along her jaw. "What's a British word for sex?"

He whispers the word into her skin. "Fork?"

"Fork." She laughs. "Let's _fork_."

Bellamy chuckles. He kisses her, and it's playful, hands weaving through the flowers in her hair.

"You're so weird," he murmurs.

"So are you. Our kids will be unbearable."

"I know. Especially since we're having five of them."

She groans. "We agreed on three."

"Right." He presses a kiss to her nose. "So, four."

Clarke rolls her eyes. "Bellamy," she whines. "There's no way I'm pushing four watermelons out of my vagina."

"Why not? Sounds fun?"

"Fun?" She huffs. Her mouth rounds as she imitates a British accent. "Bloody hell, Bellamy. What do you take me for? A French century prostitute?"

He shakes his head. "God, I love you."

It's fun, living with him, being married. They felt right together, even when they fight, even when she tries to watch Sex And The City while hockey was on. They were different, but it worked.

They were _happy_.

That New Year's Eve, they spend it at home. Watching the countdown on the television.

They're sitting on the couch when Bellamy groans beside her.

She raises an eyebrow, glancing at him. "What?"

"Nothing. It's just Miller." He's scanning through his phone. It was yellow and black - the same colors as the Boston Bruins. She got him the case for Christmas. "He's at Eastern Standard, wants us to come down."

"What did you tell him?"

"That we're an old, married couple now." He glances at the television, rolls his eyes when he notices Mariah Carey on stage. "And that, as a good husband, I am going to watch Mariah Carey with her until she falls asleep before midnight."

She laughs and leans forward. Her fingers pry the beer from his hand.

"Cheer up," she whispers. She climbs onto him and places the bottle on the ground. His hands settle on her thighs as she straddles his hips. "I think you might be forgetting the reward of being a good husband."

He smiles, her favorite one, and she leans down to kiss him. He tastes like beer, and his fingers smooth along her legs, crawling below the material of her shorts, higher and higher -

The TV quiets. Clarke gasps, turning.

"Did Mariah Carey just forget her lyrics?"

He drops his head on the couch. "Clarke."

"Sorry. Okay, I'm sorry." She laughs, nuzzling his cheek, his jaw. "You can change it to hockey or something. That definitely won't distract me."

"Of course it won't."

She smiles. "You know me so well." She presses a kiss to his lips, short, and pulls away. "Did you think, that when we met all those years ago, we would end up like this?"

"Like this?" He gestures towards the TV. "No. With you? Always."

She kisses him again, because he's adorable, and she wants to.

She leans her forehead against his. "I think my dad knew, too."

He grins. "Really?"

"Yeah. He would always tell me how great of a guy you were. Even when I was with Finn." Bellamy laughs. "It was annoying how much he loved you."

"But understandable."

"Shut up." He chuckles, playing with a loose strand of her hair. "When he first died, I was upset at first, that he wouldn't be able to meet my husband, to imagine what his grandchildren would look like."

Bellamy nods. "But he did."

"Yeah." She glances at his lips. "Thank you for that."

"Anytime."

She kisses him. It's intimate, burning, and he pulls her closer against his chest. He's warm, he always is, and she melts into him, hands reaching for the buckle around his jeans.

There's a sound of celebration. Clarke smiles into his mouth.

"Happy New Years, Bell," she whispers.

"Happy New Years, Clarke."

She discards his shirt, feeling the muscles beneath her hands as he lowers her onto the couch. It's odd, because it seems as though New Year's Eve has always been special to them, where they've had so many firsts, and perhaps some lasts, and it makes her excited for the future.

Because the future was theirs, and they were facing it together. She doesn't need anything else to keep going.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's the end. Wow. I'm genuinely crying while finishing this. This story meant a lot to me - it felt real. I think it's always important to fight for something that might not be easy, because that's what life is, and it's why we keep going.
> 
> So that's the end of Say You Won't Let Go. Again, I apologize for the delay, but life is quite busy right now. I hope it was worth the wait, and I would love to hear what you guys think of this in the review/comment section below.
> 
> Be kind to one each other. Fight for love. I know I did, and it's why I'm in a good relationship as we speak.
> 
> Until next time, xoxo.


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